Aequinoctium
by LadyAureliana
Summary: For millennia the two vampire factions have been at odds, one protecting humans while their more vicious brethren seem intent on swelling their ranks and enjoying unequaled violence. Appearances can deceive, however, and in the battle over humanity's fate one young man will become either their savior or greatest adversary. Only time will tell. Royai. (Some LingFan, too).
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer** : I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello all! I hope life is good :)

This is the first installment of another multi-chapter fic I've been working on, and it's my first foray into writing vampire stories. Just as a heads up, I'm using a few different terms throughout this chapter and those to come. _Hēlans_ are vampires that can survive sunlight, _draugur_ and _shadow-walkers_ are vampires that can only venture out at night, and _vetala_ is used occasionally to refer to vampires as a group.

Also, I may be using some place names from the FMA universe, but this is AU and does not include alchemy.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

 **AN2:** (7/30/18) Updated with a few corrections - no changes to plot.

* * *

 **Prologue**

Thin clouds slipped across the face of the moon, ethereal streaks against a midnight sky that offered little encouragement to the weary party below. Halting his mount on the crest of a hill, Roy Mustang watched the forest ahead with dark, apprehensive eyes, patting his mare's neck when the animal shifted skittishly. He murmured softly to the horse and the cool breeze lifted his black hair, causing a chill to skate down his spine and the leaves nearby to whisper. With another glance at the scenery, he moved to his father's side, who disapprovingly observed, "They're late."

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, a physiological response to the inexplicable, instinctual knowledge that he was being watched, and he shook his head. "They're already here." At those words the rumble of hooves became apparent from every direction and, while several horsemen slowed, he saw three break away to enter the trees moments later. A perimeter was formed and a hēlan approached them, his visage remarkably affable considering all the rumors Roy had heard of the vetala.

The newcomer held a hand out to Roy's father, his smile friendly and just barely crooked, black hair sticking up in a way that seemed oddly ebullient. "Lord Mustang, I'd guess...I'm Maes Hughes. A pleasure to meet you, my lord." His accent was mildly Drachman and, after the men shook hands, he added, "I do apologize for not immediately revealing our presence, but we needed to ensure you weren't followed."

"Of course...I understand." Richard gestured to his left and said, by way of introduction, "This is my son, Roy."

"Lord Hughes," he greeted while also shaking hands with the vampire, struck by the bright green of the other man's eyes, more intense than shoots of grass in spring. He had often heard that hēlans in particular often possessed more vibrantly colored eyes, and to see it first hand was slightly unnerving.

"Please, just Hughes, my lord." The man glanced at the treeline and then up at the moon, as if making some determination. "We've seen no evidence of patrols nearby, and the trail we'll take is one of the less-used. They shouldn't be watching it closely."

"Would it not be prudent," Lord Richard began, "to wait until sunrise to traverse the forest?"

"We certainly can if you prefer, my lord, however I recommend the night crossing for two reasons. First, the canopy is sufficiently dense that the draugur can move freely within the woods during the day. Second, if we leave as planned, we'll reach the other side after daybreak and can then use the sunlight as protection from any potential pursuit." He paused briefly, gauging their reactions. "However, it's ultimately your choice."

Roy's father caught his eye while considering those options, and then nodded. "You were hired to guide us for a reason, Hughes. We shall heed your advice."

"As you wish, my lord."

The three of them looked up when a horse exited the forest, traveling in their direction at a brisk but not especially hurried pace. The rider was tall, with a long face and hair that had gone completely white, though he looked to be barely more than thirty-five. He carried an axe in one hand, the shaft resting casually on a shoulder, and pulled on the reins with the other. "The first few miles of the trail are clear. We're still scouting, but it's safe to commence."

"Thank you, Miles." The white-haired man moved back toward the trees, waving for a few more members of the escort to join him, and Hughes turned to the remaining group. "Maintain the perimeter...Lord Mustang, please keep your men inside our ranks."

Several torches were passed around as they rode for the black forest ahead, and on impulse Roy drew his sword. It mattered not if he carried it all night, he wanted to be prepared. It was already irksome that they needed protection at all, and he refused to be caught unawares. He was a grown man, experienced in battle and exceptionally capable of defending himself, yet to pass safely through this stretch of woodland they were forced to hire as guards beings that could easily kill them. And he did not much like being at the mercy of strangers, let alone vampires.

His father gave him a questioning look, likely having noticed his son's brooding expression, and Roy urged his mount forward to ride at his side. With a shrug and a bit of a smirk, he quietly commented, "Nothing's the matter...I suddenly find I'm famished, and I hope our new friends are not."

"That'll be quite enough." Lord Richard kept his voice low and his response wry, unimpressed by his son's attempt at humor. "The men are nervous as it is."

They moved silently along the trail after that, nothing but the crunch of hooves, the creak of leather tack, and the occasional disquieting noise from the forest to accompany their progress. The foliage seemed to press in on them, as though the road itself were shrinking, and true to Hughes' word nothing was visible through the canopy, not even a sliver of moonlight reaching the ground. He chuckled at his own hyper-alert state, half-expecting a draugur to pounce on them at any moment wielding a machete, or another equally imposing weapon.

He abruptly found himself wondering at the green-eyed hēlan's age, at how many cities, towns, and even countries he had seen flourish and then fall out of existence, and he could not decide if he found that idea discouraging or awe-inspiring. It made him look forward to arriving home even more, where life was familiar. He could almost hear his mother bickering enthusiastically with his grandmother, engrossed in their nightly card game, while his sister was doubtless curled up by the fire with her nose in a book. He reached out to touch the saddlebag carrying the novel he'd found for her, reassuring himself that it was still there, and a smile grew on his face. He and his father had been away for more than two months visiting allies, and he yearned to be back where he could resume teaching Sofia chess. Or threaten her suitors, if necessary.

The group continued in that way for two hours, keeping a swift but quiet pace, with one member or another of their convoy periodically appearing from or vanishing into the surrounding darkness. To his great surprise, the silence remained unbroken and, sharing a look with his father, he gave the signal to pause for a rest. Their protectors may not need the break but the humans could use it, having already traveled almost four straight hours prior to entering the forest.

Once stopped they went about eating, drinking, and feeding their mounts as the vampires moved around them, some caring for animals while others went to stand watch or relieve scouts. Not long after they stopped he saw the same man from earlier, Miles, materialize from the road ahead followed by an imposing blonde with a sword at her hip, and the pair conferred with Hughes.

Roy strolled toward his father, who stood near the edge of the trail, peering into the vegetation. "Have you lost something?"

Richard chuckled, heaving a somewhat tired sigh, his own shock of dark hair in an uncommon state of disarray. "I'm simply keeping a weather eye out." He shot a quick glance around them and lowered his voice. "What do you think?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "While I don't relish relying on others, I do feel that we have an improved chance of returning home alive."

"As do I….though we must soon find additional methods for defending ourselves. The shadow-walkers roam ever closer to Glenwycke."

He hesitated, and then suggested, "Why not hire hēlans to reside in the castle and fight alongside us?"

"I fear that would make many uneasy," Lord Richard responded, one corner of his mouth furrowed.

At his father's words he scanned the small group of human soldiers, all of whom were warily watching the vampires in their midst. It would doubtless be difficult to live with such creatures, aware that at any moment they might drain your body dry with ease. However he reasoned that, in truth, any member of the household could try to kill them, be they soldier or scullery maid, though the draining of blood was less probable. He gave a little nod of understanding and replied, "True, but we may have few other options."

Lord Mustang was about to speak when the unmistakable sound of a horse at a gallop came from the gaping maw of the trail. Nearly every head whipped around, humans with a nervous curiosity and vampires with a hint of concern on their features, and Roy paced in that direction, watching the path as the hooves grew closer. Another woman came into view and dismounted nimbly, tossing the reins to a soldier as she strode toward the travelers.

She started to converse rapidly with Hughes and the two members of the forward guard, and he thought the language sounded vaguely Cretan, an old dialect he was unable to understand. She was blonde as well, but of a more golden tone than the other woman, and she carried no weapon, though a sword was strapped to her horse. What struck him most, however, were her eyes when they momentarily found his: dark chocolate irises encircled by deep red rings the color of garnet, or blood. Her gaze was haunting, intimidating, and he realized he was looking at the true commander of their escort.

When she walked away, followed by Miles and the other female hēlan, Hughes turned to them and said, urgency in his tone, "We must leave. Draugur are rapidly approaching the trail. Most are on foot...if we move quickly we can easily outstrip them."

Roy gave the signal and his men rushed to the horses, the fear more visible on their faces then it had been previously. The vampires followed suit soon after and they rode north at a much greater clip, which made him question if the draugur were closer than they'd been led to believe. He drew his sword again, keeping an observant eye on the treeline as they galloped ahead, gripping the hilt all the more tightly when they sped past a dead body. The clang of blades could be heard from the trees, shrieks of the injured rising in the darkness while the sounds of battle grew louder, and one of the vampire soldiers grunted when an arrow grazed his arm.

At a gesture from Hughes a few members of their escort disappeared into the foliage, and he said something in the same unfamiliar Cretan dialect before looking at the Lords Mustang. "We continue...keep close."

With that the vetalan drew his own weapon and spurred his horse even harder, leading them away from their would-be attackers. Roy glanced behind but could make nothing out and, though the sounds of fighting faded with distance, he refused to fall victim to the false hope of silence. The threat still chased them, otherwise they would not be racing onward at a pace most horses could only manage for a short time. Despite that truth the animals showed no signs of flagging, which could only mean they sensed the danger.

The group traversed the remainder of the woodland road in record time, nearly halving what should have been at least another two hours of controlled but quick riding. They practically flew from the trees, suddenly finding themselves in a flowering meadow as the first streaks of dawn crawled across the eastern sky. Roy spun his mount around to watch the trail they'd just left, weapon raised, his jaw setting when he saw the line of horsemen barreling toward them. "On _foot_ , I believe it was."

"I said _mostly_ ," Hughes replied, then shouting orders at his men, who formed up in front of the humans.

He smirked at the hēlan's response, directing his own men to form a line behind the vampires. His father joined him with a nod, sword already to hand, kissing the gold chain around his neck in his usual pre-battle ritual. For Roy nearly all sound fell away, save the blood pounding in his veins, the rumble of hooves, and the clank of armor. He spurred his mare forward, gaze coming to rest on a draugur riding directly for him, his mind finding that focused calm he reserved for battle. He moved as if to slash downward and then leaned back at the last moment, watching his enemy's broadsword glide above his face while his own weapon sliced open the vampire's abdomen. He straightened in the saddle just in time to pull up on the reins to avoid a collision, tilting his head to dodge a sword thrust while embedding his blade in a shadow-walker's side.

He gave the weapon a final twist and yanked it free but was then forcibly dragged from his seat and thrown several yards, rolling to a stop near the edge of the forest. As an extremely tall, almost mountainous draugur prowled in his direction, Roy heaved himself to his feet, scrambling to draw a dagger since he'd lost the sword during his unexpected flight. The vampire swung at him and he blocked it with his forearm, the force of the attack making his bones ache. He stabbed at the enemy's chest but his hand was swatted away like a fly, and then the man landed a fist to his stomach, shoving him backward to smack into a tree.

He struggled to rise, coughing fitfully, the breath having been knocked from his lungs, and the shadow-walker laughed cruelly. "You're brave, human. Stupid, yes, but brave." His hair was black and long, his pallor the sickly-pale of one who had never walked beneath the sun, and a complex collection of bright red tattoos ran up his arm and over his shoulder.

The tower of a man reached for him, but his head was suddenly jerked backward, the tip of a blade protruding from his chest and, as he fell, Hughes came into view. "Are you alright, my lord?"

He nodded, one hand massaging his sore and likely bruised abdomen. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," the green-eyed hēlan responded, pulling him to his feet. "That was Vinter...one of the worst."

"Wonderful," Roy muttered wryly as they parted ways, feeling a bit irritated at the beating he'd taken. He found his horse grazing and took possession of her reins, noticing how bright the sky had become, which meant they were out of danger. At least for the time being. More hēlans trickled out of the woods in twos and threes, and he was stunned to discover that neither group had lost even a single man. He was undeniably impressed.

Extricating his sword from the tall grasses, he strolled to meet his father, who gruffly asked, "You hurt?"

"Nothing serious. And yourself?"

"The fiend nicked my arm." Richard climbed into the saddle and held up the arm in question, which boasted a gash that stretched from wrist to elbow. "It can wait until we're home."

"If you say so."

As the sun rose further they continued their journey to the stronghold of Glenwyke, home of the Mustang family for nine generations. The group rested only when necessary, managing to reach their destination around midday, and Roy breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of their banner flying up ahead. Slowing to a more reasonable pace, he passed through the gates and jumped to the ground to meet his sister. She raced to embrace him and, with a grin, he lifted and spun her, the young lady's laughter filling the air.

She pushed black tendrils from her eyes when he set her down and declared, "You've been gone far too long, brother, and I hereby decree that you're no longer permitted to leave the castle."

He chuckled and gave her an exaggerated bow. "As you command, my lady." Reaching into one of the saddlebags, he added, "I've a present for you, Sofia." He feigned hesitation. "But perhaps that should wait until I've said hello to mother as well. Yes, that's probably best..."

She smirked and took the book from the bag herself. "You found it!"

"Naturally. It was in the library at one of the strongholds we visited."

"You didn't _steal_ it..."

"Of course not, Sofia. Although I did have to work in a blacksmith's forge for _three days_ as payment."

She hugged him again, smiling in excitement. "Thank you, _liar_." Sofia then broke away and headed back to the keep, already reading the first page. "Come...mother has food and tea set out."

"I'll be right there." Turning, he searched for his father and saw him speaking with one of the vampires of their escort. Before he could approach, however, he caught sight of Hughes and reached out to shake his hand. "Thank you again."

"You're very welcome, my lord," the man replied, inclining his head slightly. "It's been an honor."

"Perhaps we'll work together again. A delegation is coming in a few months that'll need protection."

"I look forward to it."

"As do I, Hughes. Good luck to you." The hēlan walked away and Roy once again looked for his father in the crowd, but the man had disappeared, likely already inside. Unwilling to wait any longer, he strolled into the keep to greet the rest of his family, incomparably happy to be home.

* * *

 **Three Hours Later**

Riza Hawkeye's fury knew few bounds as she strode through the halls of Glenwyke, the air thick with smoke and the scent of blood. The former was merely a nuisance, while the latter made her both ravenous and inimitably irate. Ominous scarlet stains adorned the walls and tapestries, the candles still in their sconces flickered, and once elegant carpets had been transformed into soiled tatters. Servants lay dead in the passageways, tossed haphazardly to the floor, and her left hand formed a fist when she found the exsanguinated child at the foot of a staircase. Her jaw clenched at the expression of terror on that innocent face, and she gestured tersely for Hughes and the other men to split up and search the keep.

Continuing to what was likely the dining hall, she threw open the great doors to find each member of the Mustang family lying bloodied on the floor. The grandmother retained no hint of life, Lady Mustang's eyes were already fixed in a glassy stare, and a pink-hued foam spewed from the father's mouth. To Riza's left one of her missing men whirled to face her, his gaze widening in fear as he distractedly lowered the wrist from his lips, a deep red pool spreading around his knees from the wounds on a young woman's neck. Not giving him the opportunity to react further, she stepped forward and grasped his neck, snapping it with a flick of her wrist and tossing him effortlessly across the room.

Another soldier approached and she dodged the sword he thrust at her heart, gripping his forearm and breaking the appendage with a deft twist. Simultaneously sweeping his feet from under him and catching his weapon, she twirled the blade around to spear him with it, helping him land on the stone floor with a satisfying smack. Footfalls came from behind and she spun to knock away a knife, wrapping an arm around the attacker's neck and using it as a fulcrum to swing around his back. She landed on her feet, forcing him to bend at the waist, and broke his neck in the crook of her arm.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice your absence?" she asked, pacing toward Piotr, another member of her coven, who rose apprehensively to his feet beside Lord Mustang's son. "You should've had the presence of mind to attack while I was already engaged."

When he opened his mouth to respond she hit him squarely in the chest, sending him flying at the wall, his head contacting the stone mantle of the fireplace with a loud crack that she rather enjoyed. Taking a sword that lay on the table, she threw the scabbard aside and rammed the steel through Piotr's heart, adding an enraged twist and taking exceptional pleasure in the way the light left his eyes. She turned to survey the carnage, exhaling heavily at the turn of events, and then unexpected movement caught her attention.

She quickly crouched next to the young Lord Mustang, who was attempting to roll onto his stomach, and admonished, "Lie still." Riza pulled his shirt collar to one side to examine the wound at his neck and, when he gripped her wrist, she met his eyes.

The human struggled to breathe, every inch of his body no doubt in excruciating pain as Piotr's venom crept through his veins like acid. With what was likely every ounce of the little strength that remained him, he croaked, "My sister... _please_."

She held his imploring gaze and, after a moment, gave him a small nod. Taking a chalice from the table, she dumped the wine into the fire and moved to kneel beside the young woman, checking her eyes, the bites, and her pulse. The blood flow from her injuries had stopped altogether, and any tremors usually caused by a vampire's venom were gone as well. Her prognosis was discouraging at best.

In spite of all that, Riza sliced open her palm and let blood drip into the girl's open mouth, watching for any change. She analyzed the various injuries for a second time, and unfortunately found not even the barest trace of healing, and his sister's eyes still failed to react to the light in the room. Shaking her head, she slid her eyelids closed and returned to the gentleman's side. "I cannot save her….but it's not too late for you."

A series of emotions crossed his face, ranging from fear and rage to hopelessness, the choice before him unimaginable: to face an eternity without his loved ones, or to die. His gaze moved from his sister to his parents, his grandmother, and he blinked away the gloss of tears. His respirations grew shallow and frequent and, wincing, he rasped, "Help."

In response she held her hand over the pewter goblet and gripped the blade of the knife, letting blood trickle downward until the vessel was half-full. She set the weapon aside, the small laceration gradually closing to form an angry red line, and she helped him into a seated position against the wall. When she brought the cup to his lips he balked, and she placed two fingers at his chin to make him look at her. "This is your _only_ chance."

He nodded painfully and she helped him drink, pulling it briefly away to provide him with a break when he gagged. The young man relaxed almost instantly, and she guessed that meant the burning sensation pervading his body had dissipated. He was already breathing more easily, and his eyelids drooped as he leaned his head against the wall with a relieved sigh.

Upon hearing footsteps echo along the hall outside the room, Riza turned to see Miles standing in the doorway. His gaze took in his one-time comrades, but he refrained from commenting, and instead announced, "Hughes has something for you."

Facing the human once again, she said, "Lord Mustang." His eyes opened languidly, and she stood, picking up her dagger. "I'll be back. Be sure to keep still."

His eyes drifted shut once more and she joined Miles, raking golden-blonde hair from her face. They passed quickly through several corridors and out into the yard, her chest tensing at the growing collection of corpses laid there. Men, women, and children slaughtered for sport, with the Mustang family saved for last, to sate their infernal hunger. An intense guilt rippled through her gut.

"They killed nearly everyone, save the few that managed to run away," Hughes informed them. "Olivier already left to collect them."

"We'll accompany the survivors to the nearest village." Riza continued her examination of the victims, committing the many faces to memory and silently vowing to never again allow such a tragedy to occur. Voice low, she ordered, "Burn the bodies."

The blaze was lit behind them as they turned to face the castle, and Hughes said, "I asked to see you because the fifth culprit escaped, and I'd like to go after him."

"Hunt him down," she assented, adding as he made to leave, "And Maes...I want his head on a fucking _pike_."

"With pleasure, Hawk." He gave her a satisfied grin, as if that were the directive he'd been hoping for, and broke away shouting orders.

She moved her attention to the man at her left. "Miles...have a wagon prepared for Lord Mustang's son. He'll need to come with us so we may monitor his condition."

"Of course."

Alone she entered the gloomy, near lifeless keep and made her way to the dining hall, the places where bodies had lain marked by blood stains and viscera. What had seemed a cheerful home that same afternoon had become a tomb; dim, silent, and somber. "Lord Mustang..." she began as she stepped into the space, trailing off when she realized the young man was no longer there. Perplexed, she hurriedly investigated the closest rooms and sent several soldiers to look for him. They searched the stronghold and grounds, as well as the lands immediately surrounding the defensive walls, but the gentleman was nowhere to be found.

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 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have a great day :)


	2. The Village of Freyne

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello all! Just a quick note to say that I've responded to a couple guest reviews from the Prologue at the end of this post. I hope you enjoy the second chapter :)

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 **The Village of Freyne** \- Northern Amestris (319 years later)

Roy Mustang twisted out of his bedding with the haste of one escaping unsettling dreams, his breaths heavy, a droplet of sweat trailing slowly down his neck. The cold floor on which his feet landed did naught to ground him, and he ran a hand through damp hair before pacing toward the table set in front of the fireplace. The room was peaceful, a current of air drifting lazily through the open window, barely wafting the drapes as it passed, and that serenity could not be more different from the dream that had torn him from sleep. The one he'd been having for centuries, ever since the vampire with the brown and red eyes gave him her blood.

It was always the same, taking place in a dimly lit bedchamber, with a vast carpet over the stone floor and several ornate furnishings in the periphery. The fire had burnt down to mere embers, only a few candles continued to flicker on a table, and a hint of sunlight trickled through the minuscule part in the thick drapes. He was drinking blood, the rich, strangely sweet liquid leaving a metallic tinge on his tongue, and waves of potent despair washed over him. He had no idea from whom he fed, but utter anguish consumed him.

After what felt like an age he stood, walking a touch unsteadily and grasping the bed's sturdy oak foot-board for support. He could feel _power_ surging through him, a rush unlike any he'd ever felt, the sensation equally exhilarating and revolting. When he reached a petite writing desk he dropped into the chair, slowly raising his head to look in the mirror, only where his face should have been he saw the blonde. Her lips were parted slightly, blood dripped languorously from the corners of her mouth, and tears coursed down her cheeks as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection. She clutched at her chest and sorrow ripped through his, and then she dipped her head for another instant.

From somewhere in the darkened room a tentative, nameless voice asked, "Riza? Are you ready?"

The blonde's chest rose, and he felt the breath she took as if it were his own. "Yes." When she looked up again her gaze was determined, mouth set in a frightening little smile, and a new emotion swirled with the others: anger.

Then he would wake, always at that moment, the influence of those powerful emotions wreaking an impressive amount of havoc on his own. It had the effect of bringing back into focus everything he'd ever felt about the loss of his family: the sadness, the rage, how lost he'd been for decades. He still was in a way, if he was honest with himself, since during his long life he'd never stayed in one place for more than a smattering of years. On that topic, however, Roy preferred not to dwell.

The sudden hand on his side and the lips at his shoulder were a reminder that he was not alone, and the woman in his quarters quietly said, "The wagons won't be here for another hour. Stay in bed."

"I cannot." He shook the remnants of the dream from his head and poured himself a glass of wine, downing it quickly. "I need to scout the forest."

"I could make things _much_ more interesting for you here." Kinna smiled suggestively and pulled him toward the bed, dull brown hair flowing over her shoulders as she watched him with dull brown eyes. He had found her reasonably attractive when they met, and her easy manners had made her more friendly than most in that isolated town. However, what had truly drawn him to her was the fact that she'd known what he was and still sought his company. He knew why, of course, but it was a welcome respite from the usual ostracism with which he had been faced for three centuries. He had only ever tried to protect humans, one would think that would earn him an iota of goodwill.

"I'm sure you could," he replied with forced amusement. It seemed a cruel thought, but he recently realized he'd already grown tired of her company, and had spent the last few days contemplating his next destination. "You should go. Get in your house and stay there."

Kinna slowly began to dress, and he could practically feel the cogs turning in her mind as she attempted to determine how to best broach the inevitable subject. "You know, it's just mother and myself. I worry about our ability to defend o..."

He exhaled heavily. "I'll not turn you."

"Why would you oppose the idea?"

"For one, I don't believe you _can_ be turned. For another, I'm not so easily persuaded that seducing me is the equivalent of convincing me." Roy naturally neglected to mention that he'd watched his entire family die horrifically during their transition.

With a thinly concealed glare she tugged on her dress. "You _knew_ what I wanted….you used me."

"I believe it was _mutual_. You knew exactly what you were doing, your only failure was in not recognizing that I saw through your ploy." He shook his head, letting out a faint chuckle. "I've been walking these lands for more than a few years, and you're not the first woman to try to use me for her own ends."

"Fucking sanguiferus," she spat. "Just like all the others...content to keep the humans weak and easily fed upon."

"I never took a drop from you, despite your many offers."

"How pitiful you are." Kinna gave a mean-spirited laugh. "The only companionship you can find is from women who seek something from you. Are the rest too disgusted?"

" _Faex_ ," he muttered to himself, moving to take her hand and kiss it in a conciliatory gesture. "I fear that, even if I could turn you, it wouldn't help. It'd be centuries before you had any real hope of fending off the draugur." He took her face in his hands. "We've enjoyed our time together. Can we not leave it at that?"

She watched him with an expression that was still half-glare, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and left with a slam of the door. He exhaled lightly at the less than pleasant exchange, glancing at the other pewter chalice on the table before lifting it to take a whiff of the offering from the innkeeper. The man had provided him with food and lodging, as well as a bit of coin, in return for his services as part of the town guard, which had been on alert due to an increase in altercations with the draugur. He swirled the deep red liquid, deducing that it came from a young man of approximately twenty years, his preferred source. He then drained that goblet and strode to the mammoth mahogany wardrobe to dress, periodically pausing to partake of the bread and turkey also set out. Gazing out the window to check the moon's position, he wrapped some of the food in a linen cloth and took the stairs down to the rear door. It meant he would emerge near the aromatic pigpens, but it was worth it to avoid traversing the common room with its obnoxious villagers.

The evening was dark and calm, with silence pressing in from all sides, disturbed mainly by the sporadic snort of a pig or chirp of a cricket. Those nights were his favorite, when the black mountains rose in the distance and the moon was a hazy disk behind the clouds. The forest edge loomed ahead as he walked toward the outskirts of town, acting as a protective wall for the village, and the world bestowed on him one of its rare moments of peace. He had not fully appreciated the darkness when he was human, preferring sunrises and their promise of a new day to sunsets. At some point in his long life he came to love the night, taking comfort in the way it fell over everything like a shroud, hiding the world until morning.

He then heard additional movement through the field, and in response held out the small packet of food he'd prepared. "I knew you'd sneak out here."

"Going to tell me to go back?" Lan Fan asked, taking what would be her dinner for the evening. She was almost a full twelve inches shorter than him, her black hair just long enough for the majority to be pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and her frame was rather thin. "Where it's _safe_?" This last word was pronounced with obvious irony. She lived with her father, the village baker, who happened to have a drinking problem, along with a 'being an unmitigated bastard' problem.

"Not me, but if anything does happen..."

"I know...look out for bloodsuckers and follow your lead." She held up a turkey leg. "Thank you, by the way. They give you the _best_ stuff."

"Only because they're afraid of me." He looked over at the yellowing bruise on her face. "That eye's healing nicely."

She reached reflexively toward the injury. "It is. That compress you recommended helped. The cut healed in no time." After a few more steps, she teased, "I guess it's true what they say...the old really are wise."

"Always making fun of my age. Quite rude, young lady."

After another step, she asked, "Have you heard anything?"

"Not yet. Why?"

She shrugged. "The village elder said he sent word three days ago to a coven of hēlans, but received no response. I was curious."

They paused partway through the field, listening closely to the sounds of night and watching the line of trees. "They're here. In my experience, they don't always reveal themselves, but I'm sure they came." He continued toward the forest, wading through the tall grasses. "An intelligent move on your elder's part, after agreeing to this ill-advised night delivery."

"He said Lord Cormack was the only man with extra grain he was willing to sell."

"Cormack...A lord who happens to do business with the shadow-walkers. So..." He gave her a meaningful look. "...who sold what, I wonder?"

Lan Fan met his gaze uncertainly, considering that thought, and then abruptly pointed to the cut along his hairline. "I thought your kind healed instantly."

It was his turn to instinctively raise a couple fingers to the tiny scrape on his scalp. "Only the very oldest and strongest of us, and even that's not _instant_. It appears that way because what takes a human weeks to heal may take a vampire mere days or hours depending on age and severity of the injury." Remembering the blonde he added, almost to himself, voice a touch softer, "I once saw a woman slice open her own hand, only to have the wound slowly drift closed as I watched. I'd never seen a thing like it."

The girl eyed him, clearly not missing the change in tone. "How old was she?"

"I don't know exactly...but _old_. I never saw her again, never had the opportunity to ask." He kept a hand on the pommel of his weapon while they walked, spotting other guards traipsing through the field to their posts, and glanced at the short sword she'd brought. "Have you had any training with that?"

"Some." She touched the hilt nervously. "My father used to be a soldier. He was training me before..." Lan Fan paused, trying to decide how best to convey the thought 'before he became an abusive asshole' without using those precise words, and settled on saying, "...before my mother died."

"Alright...just make sure you only kill draugur. If you start attacking hēlans, they may not agree to help you again." He tried to keep a note of jest in his voice to lighten the mood, but he was partially distracted by the urgent desire to threaten her father with a violent death. It was astounding, the extent to which Lan Fan reminded him of Sofia, and he'd even be willing to pay repeated visits to this distant town if it kept her safe.

She gave a little nod, a tiny smile breaching her normally stoic features, and then uneasily said, "The shadow-walkers have bright red eyes, pale skin, and tattoos of their kills."

"Very good."

"And the others? What will they look like?"

"Like normal people, for the most part." He crouched to check a trail, deciding based on trajectory that it belonged to a farmer that had come for the delivery. "They can seem a bit...eerie."

"Eerie," the teen repeated, confused.

"You'll see." Once more on the move, he said, "I thought you were forbidden from speaking to me. Since I fill your head with _crazy ideas_."

She shrugged. "I took it as more of a suggestion than an order." The bell in the town square tolled to announce the visitors' arrival and they returned to the trees' edge, watching the laden wagon trundle along the forest road.

"Moment of truth," he muttered before suddenly spinning, brow creased, when he thought he heard the clash of metal ring out somewhere behind him.

"What was that?" Lan Fan asked tensely.

He held up a hand to quiet her, scanning the darkness as he listened intently, waiting for the silence to be broken once more. He was about to turn back to the town when he heard it again, a muffled clink from some distance away. "Warn the..." he started to say, but then the bell again pealed, this time chaotically. "Never mind….stay behind me."

Drawing his sword he strode forward, giving the young woman a look to indicate she should do the same and, as the clashes grew closer his pace quickened. When a pale draugur emerged from between two trees, swinging a broadsword, he parried the attack, responding with a kick to the chest that sent him reeling into a low-growing tree branch. He then deftly slashed his blade as the enemy fell to his knees, decapitating him in one swift stroke. Lan Fan stared, wide eyes shifting from him to the now headless vampire, but he simply said, "Let's move."

As soon as he spoke the sky glowed brilliantly, illuminated by the defensive fires that erupted around the perimeter of the settlement, burning arrows finding the pitch-soaked ground. Screams were carried on the breeze that jostled his hair, and he could not help but feel satisfied that some draugur had been caught in the blaze.

Roy continued to pace warily in the direction of the earlier sounds of battle, aware that it meant the hēlans had indeed arrived, and he let the thought cross his mind that the blonde might be with them, but he found the possibility unlikely. He did not know which coven had traveled with him all those years ago, but as the village was hundreds of miles from the stronghold he once called home, he doubted that particular coven was stationed near enough to help.

When footsteps close by cut off his train of thought, he hefted the weapon in his hand and told her, "Remember, you're light and quick. Use that." He kept his momentum and, when the first shadow-walker materialized, he met sword with sword. Gripping his opponent's weapon by the blade, he forced it lower, providing himself with an opening to ram his own into the man's heart. Moving forward, he parried two attacks and spun to elbow the next vetalan in the face, twisting around to embed his sword in another's back. He quickly pulled it free and reversed his grip on the hilt, stabbing the draugur with the now broken nose trying to attack from behind.

He checked the area as he wrenched the weapon from the dead man's gut, finding Lan Fan in the process of pushing a body off her, the pommel of the short sword she'd carried poking out from below his collarbone. The girl rose shakily, frightened gaze finding his, and he made a gesture with his head that was half approving nod and half tilt of pleasant surprise. "Well done."

About to walk to her, he saw movement to his right and turned to block a spear thrust, simultaneously shouting, "Lan Fan!" in warning when another marauder ran toward the teen brandishing two very sharp, curved knives. Trying to divide his attention between the girl's circumstances and his own, he parried a second too late and metal bit into his arm. Shoving the spear downward with his weapon, he stepped in the middle to snap it in half and sliced at the draugur's arm, amputating it above the elbow. He glanced back to see a figure jump in front of Lan Fan and block the knife-wielding vampire's advances, at which point he finished off his current opponent. Stepping around his body, Roy rushed toward them and ran his sword across the distracted enemy's throat.

The unknown hēlan gave him a kind of salute with his weapon and started to say, "Thanks, yo…."

He quickly stopped speaking when an imposing draugur appeared, a battle axe with a blade the size of a wagon wheel waved with disturbingly little effort. He had hardly taken another step when a sword abruptly flew into view, skewering the new arrival through the heart and pinning him against a tree trunk. " _Havoc_." A woman strode toward the weapon, yanking it from wood and flesh before letting the body slump to the ground and smoothly slicing off its head. "If I have to tell you to watch your back one more time, I'll kill you myself. I trained you better than that."

"He was walking directly into my trap, Hawk," the hēlan that came to Lan Fan's rescue cheerfully responded. "You'd have found it incredibly impressive."

"I'm sure." The woman's tone was sarcastic, but when she turned there was an amused smirk on her face, and then Roy's eyes widened, because her features were unmistakable. She looked at him for a moment, that brown and garnet gaze as formidable as it had been three centuries prior, and it was momentarily difficult to reconcile this version with the tear-stained images from his dream. If he was at all familiar to her she gave no concrete indication, pausing next to one of the men he'd killed to view his face and shaking blood from her blade. "Get the girl out of here, Havoc. And tell Olivier I've..."

Roy turned on his heel at the same moment the blonde fell silent, and they watched the trees to the east, both moving to position themselves between Lan Fan and the oncoming threat. The first shadow-walker ran at them and Roy waited, dropping at the last moment to slash at the backs of his legs while the woman fluidly spun to open a long gash across his throat. He twisted and rose to his feet in one movement, sidestepping the downward arc of an axe, drawing a dagger, and lodging it between two of the man's ribs. Knocking aside a blade thrown at his face, he swung his sword at an approaching draugur's neck and then whipped a throwing knife into the trees, a gratifying thud reaching him seconds later.

Then a voice behind them suddenly boomed, "Looking for me, _Hawk_?" and he turned to find the tallest shadow-walker he'd ever seen. His white hair was in a thick braid that hung down his back, bright red tattoos decorated every inch of visible skin, and his clothing was covered in the stains of his violent work. Blood dribbled from his lips, just as it flowed from the recent bite marks on Lan Fan's neck. The man called Havoc lay on the ground a few feet away, and Roy's jaw clenched when the vampire tossed the young woman away unconcernedly, like she was no more than a table scrap.

"Long time, Tomás," the blonde replied, slowly pacing toward the draugur.

The new arrival started to move and Roy threw his sword, sprinting to drag Lan Fan out of harm's way. The man was forced to block his weapon and Hawk used that instant of inattention to attack with a sideways cut, but he knocked her blade away easily. She then landed a solid hit to his sternum with the heel of her hand, but the massive vampire only moved back a few feet. He swung an arm and she stopped the attack with her forearm, only to be tossed backward by a punch to her gut.

Roy rushed forward, dodging another swing and pinning the man's arm under his own, ramming the heel of his hand into his nasal ridge while the blonde gripped his other arm and, in quick succession, stabbed at his hand and chest before plunging the blade downward near his shoulder. A hit that felt like a rock to his side shoved Roy to the ground and, as he rolled away sucking in a breath, the blonde spun beneath Tomás' sword to kick him in the back. The giant stumbled forward, backhanding her in the process, and Roy finally pushed himself to his feet, moving behind to jump up and wrap an arm around his neck. He put all his strength into the hold, but the draugur grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him over his head.

His back collided with solid ground, jarring his limbs, and then a hand closed around his own neck in an iron grip. He was lifted from the forest floor, feet dangling uselessly as he tried to pry thick fingers away, attempting in vain to coax oxygen into his lungs, and for several seconds he felt as maddeningly ineffectual as he had when fighting the vetala as a human.

"Idiotic hēlan," he half-heard the man chuckle as his consciousness faded, but then the vampire was unexpectedly knocked to his knees and Hawk appeared behind him, tossing aside a monumental tree branch and snapping his neck.

Roy fell to the ground when the shadow-walker's grip mercifully gave way, coughing hoarsely and watching as the blonde retrieved her sword, kicked the shadow-walker onto his back, and ripped out his heart as if for good measure. A thin red line trailed from her forehead and down the side of her face, but it was faint, as though the blood flow from the injury had largely ceased, and he assumed she'd hit something one of the times she was thrown back by Tomás. Crouching next to him, she slit the dead man's wrist and handed it to him. "It'll help you recover."

He took the proffered appendage, blood oozing from the cut, and drank while she crossed the small clearing to evaluate Lan Fan's and Havoc's injuries. The blood had a slightly unpleasant, sour taste but he soon began to breathe easier, the pain in his neck and throat having diminished. Inhaling deeply, he hurried to the girl's side, mouth forming a line when he saw she'd started to tremble in response to Tomás' venom. It was a better sign than instant death, at least.

The two hēlans joined him, Havoc looking battered but alive and the blonde with the dead vampire's heart still in her possession. She knelt, tilted open the young woman's mouth, and held the heart over it, squeezing to let a few drops of dark red liquid drip downward. Her other hand momentarily hovered curiously near the bruise over the girl's eye, but then she handed the organ to Havoc and tasted the blood on her thumb, eyes closing for a moment before she suddenly stood. "I must go. Get the girl to the village. She has time, but Olivier must attend to her soon."

"Aye, Hawk." They watched her vanish into the trees without another word, and then the other man turned to him, piercing ultramarine eyes examining him from a long face framed in sandy hair. Finally he held out his hand and said, "Jean Havoc."

"Roy Mustang," he introduced himself as they shook hands. "A pleasure." He waved off toward where the woman had disappeared into the darkness, asking, "Should one of us go with her?"

The other man shook his head. "No...if Hawkeye had further need of our aid she'd have said." Gesturing behind him, he added, "Nicely done back there."

Roy chuckled skeptically, taking note of what was probably the blonde's surname and lifting Lan Fan from the ground. "I nearly had my head ripped off." They made their way through the forest in the direction of Freyne, the teen groaning in pain and muttering unintelligibly in her delirium.

"I was already knocked out...you fared much better than I did." The vampire examined the girl's short sword as he spoke, giving the weapon a few swings and testing the blade with a fingertip. "That Tomás was an _evil_ old son-of-a-bitch. Hawk's been looking for him for years...glad we finally found him."

"Old is right. That bastard was _strong_. Every time he hit me it felt like a goddamn boulder."

"I don't know how many years he had exactly..." Havoc began as they crossed into the field between the forest and town. "...but he was older than Lord Armstrong, which is saying something. And he had a penchant for killing young ladies, which we didn't care for."

"Bastards," he muttered, shifting Lan Fan in his arms so her head could rest on his shoulder at a less severe angle.

"Fucking _disturbing_. And let me tell yo..." He stopped, waving the short sword toward the northern end of the village "I think Olivier was headed that way. Take the girl to the inn...we'll meet you there."

Roy did not bother with a reply as the other man jogged away, instead focusing on his footing and tightening his grip on Lan Fan. He trudged through grasses that were still smoldering, the haze of smoke stinging his eyes and blurring the edges of buildings ahead. However, he'd walked that route so many times during his short stay that he still vaulted the rudimentary fence in his usual place, taking her up the same staircase he'd used to leave earlier.

The common room was full of voices, and many a room he passed had been taken over by the wounded being brought there for aid. It reminded him that, to truly earn his keep, he should return to the forest, enter once more into the fray. And at the thought of leaving Lan Fan, he momentarily chastised himself for not sending her straight back to the village when she'd found him earlier. She was a teenager, and he should not have let his sympathies for her violent home life override his logic when it came to fighting the draugur. His mind quickly changed, however, when he realized her father would sooner hand her over to the shadow-walkers than protect her. Impossible as it seemed, she'd been safer in the forest with him.

He opened the door as deftly as he was able and kicked it shut with his heel, laying her gently on the bed and grabbing the closest cloth to dab at the foam spewing from her mouth. Tears fell over her cheeks and her entire body began to seize, limbs locking and shaking uncontrollably. It was like watching it happen to Sofia all over again, and his hand formed a fist around the fabric, which turned out to be one of his shirts,

When she relaxed, he dampened what he ensured was a clean cloth in a pitcher of water and wrung it carefully, letting several drops fall into her mouth. The girl coughed, her already terrified expression contorted in pain. "It…. _hurts_."

"I know. It'll pass."

She coughed again, more foam crawling along her cheek, several flecks flying to land on her chin, and she seemed to be trying to speak but all he heard was a garbled mess. He reached over to wipe away the froth, trying to give her a little water, and kept her steady when she seized for a second time. After the tension subsided he checked the mantel clock impatiently, pacing toward the window to look for any sign of Havoc out in the darkness. He soon heard feet pounding up the stairs and turned to face the door as it was thrown open, catching a small vial that was tossed to him. "She couldn't come now, but she'll check on the girl later," the hēlan reported, breaths short as if he'd run the length of the town in seconds.

"Thank you." He immediately returned to Lan Fan's side, shaking her awake and helping her drink the red liquid. When she gargled, appearing about to retch, he quietly said, "It'll help, but you _have_ to keep it down." With closed eyes she drank, placing a hand on her stomach in a pointless effort to ease the turmoil, and once finished she slumped back into the pillows.

Behind him, Havoc said, "We found more shadow-walkers coming from the southeast...we could use you."

"Of course. I'll be right there." After the man left he poured a goblet of water and placed it next to the bed, sitting briefly beside her. "Lan Fan..." She lazily met his gaze and he told her, "I'll be gone for a while. Keep the door locked and, if something happens, put a candle in the window. I'll see it."

This was received with a slow nod and he expected no further response, making instead for the door and securing it behind him. He remembered the extreme incoherence he experienced during his own transition, and that had only been magnified by the unequaled lethargy caused by the strain of the transformation. It was unquestionably how, two days following his own change, he'd somehow found himself forty miles from what remained of his home. For that reason he disliked having to leave her unaccompanied, but her survival would mean little if the village still swarmed with draugur that could as easily kill her as say hello.

He vanished into the dark forest, following the sounds of conflict as he had earlier to catch up with Havoc, and a further three hours of fighting ensued. While clearly younger than himself, the other man was an able soldier, and together they made significant additions to the growing tally of dead. Unexpectedly, it seemed the bulk of the enemy forces were young and therefore weak, and he wondered briefly if the attack was one of the group's well-known initiation nights, in which the newly turned were sent to one location en masse. Those who survived were accepted into the lowest echelon of draugur society, and those who died were often forgotten. To the shadow-walkers, everyone was expendable.

That admittedly discouraging thought ran through his mind as he added a head to the grisly collection of corpses at the edge of town. It would soon be set aflame, as was the custom in such situations, and on his trek to the inn he could hear hēlans dousing the pile with accelerant behind him. Wiping his weapon clean, he sheathed it and made straight for his quarters, stopping only to ask that food be sent up. However, upon reaching the landing he paused, a hand reaching for the hilt of his only recently relinquished sword when he noticed the door to his room was ajar. His paces became smooth, quiet, and he silently drew the blade despite the fact no struggle was audible; he was taking no chances.

He entered to find a figure bent over the young woman stretched out on the bed, the visitor's head turning a fraction in acknowledgment of his presence, and it was not until the edge of his weapon rested against the intruder's neck that he recognized the golden hair in the dim light. The woman he now knew as Hawkeye positioned her hands to show they held only bloody bandages, and said, "I'm no threat."

Roy returned the sword to its sheath, setting the weapon belt aside as he moved closer. "My apologies. I thought her father might've sent someone looking for her."

She glanced at him, raising Lan Fan's shirt a few inches to reveal the bruises on her stomach. "His work?"

"Yes."

Hawk nodded that she understood, lips in a line, her fingers returning to the bite at the girl's neck. "It may not look like it, but she's already healing."

Speaking softly, so as not to wake the patient, he replied, "I expected her to heal more like a human for some time."

"Tomás was powerful...he'd lived for at least a millennium," she said, pressing fresh linens to the wound and gently wrapping a bandage around her neck to keep them in place.

"Her transition will be quick, then."

"Far quicker than normal, yes." The blonde stood, joining him where he stoked the fire, her attention briefly directed at a book on the nearest table. "We'll be escorting the remaining villagers to the next town...you're both welcome to join us."

"Thank you. I'll speak with her." Roy gave her an appreciative curve of the lips, one which he could not be certain was returned, though her mien seemed to soften slightly.

The woman watched him a moment longer, and then eyed the sleeping girl. "Her resemblance to your sister is remarkable."

"It is," he responded, looking at her in surprise.

The corners of her mouth turned upward, she added by way of farewell, "If you'll excuse me, Lord Mustang."

He held her gaze briefly, and then gave her a small nod. "Lady Hawkeye."

Her head tilted curiously at his use of her surname, perhaps wondering where he'd heard it. "Not lady, just Hawkeye."

With that she left, and he lowered himself distractedly into the chair beside the bed, still shocked that she'd remembered him. Given the number of people she'd had occasion to meet in what was undoubtedly a long life, one human was surely trivial, and he'd imagined his near death would hardly be memorable for her. He had minimal time for such ruminations, however, because Lan Fan then asked, in a voice with no trace of slumber whatsoever, "Did she just call you _Lord_ Mustang?"

Roy narrowed his eyes at her. "You were _pretending_ to sleep?"

"How do you know each other, _Lord Mustang_?"

"I'd prefer you not call me that." He leaned forward to hand her a glass of water, checking a cut on her arm that turned out to merely be a spot of dried blood. "How are you?"

"You ignored my question," she retorted, accepting the water begrudgingly.

"You ignored mine."

"Well, how…?"

"Lan Fan," he interrupted with _mostly_ amused exasperation. "I may tell you that story one day, but not tonight."

She watched him as she drank, almost certainly trying to determine whether this situation called for further teasing, or for dropping the matter entirely. Apparently choosing the latter, Lan Fan stared at the chalice and faintly said, "I'd like to leave with the hēlans."

"Alright." Roy nodded, cracking open the book and leaning back in his chair. "I suppose I'd better come along. To make sure you stay out of trouble, young lady." Her only reply was to scoff as she fluffed a pillow and pulled at the blankets to get comfortable, but he caught the tiny smile she tried to hide.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the chapter, and have a great day :)

 **AN2:** Responses to guest reviews from previous chapter:

Clic: Thank you so much for the review! I'm glad to hear this caught your interest. (I'm not sure why I didn't send you a message reply for this review when I got it, but anyway...lol) Gracias y que tengas un buen día :)

dvltgr: Thank you! Those were wonderful compliments :) And I'm so happy you enjoyed the first chapter! Have a good one!


	3. The Road to Halsted

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hola :) So, my word processor was doing some strange things while I was reading/editing this, and I apologize for any weird typos. With that random note, here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 **The Road to Halsted**

Over nine hours had passed since they departed Freyne and Riza strode through the darkening forest, brusquely slicing away branches and brush while making her way toward the scent of blood that had caught her attention back on the road. It was faint, little more than a hint on the air, and instinct told her it was likely a stag, but experience dictated that she investigate exhaustively. It could be nothing, or a draugur might have escaped and taken refuge in the woods, hoping to find a dark and secluded location in which to wait out the day. And with all the humans traversing the thoroughfare nearby, she was in no mood to take chances.

She slowed for half a step, altering her course slightly eastward when another inhalation proved the scent to be stronger in that direction. A chill clung to the area, the dense canopy above having blocked out much of the sun throughout the day, and it prickled her skin as she stepped around a massive spinose shrub. The air was still and heavy, as if no wind had circulated it for years, the stale aroma of decaying foliage occasionally mixing with that of blood. When the latter suddenly intensified she came to a stop, moving to crouch beside the carcass at the base of a monstrous old oak. It was a stag, as she'd predicted, the tawny fur on its neck and flank turned a blackened red, indicating that the blood had been exposed to the open air for some time.

Riza swiped a thumb across one of the more obvious wounds and brought the sparse liquid to her lips, instantaneously spitting it out in response to an overwhelming rancidity. Accounting for the bitter taste, and conditions in the immediate environment, she'd guess the creature had been killed at least two days prior. Even in the dim light she could discern clear bite marks, and her eyes subsequently shifted to the ground, searching for footprints. It was difficult to tell, the forest floor being covered in a layer of dead leaves, but she could pick out a few heel-like depressions moving away from the stag, and a light smear of blood on a tree. Taking those signs into account, along with the inept nature of the kill, it was safe to conclude the perpetrator was recently turned and therefore young, posing little threat.

She stood, eyes continuing to follow the tracks for a moment longer, and when the footfalls approaching her position stilled, she asked, "Anything?"

Olivier let out one of her clipped sighs, which always meant she'd found something she disliked. "There's a set of tracks on the old trail leading to Castle Ercliff...last abandoned over a century ago, if I recall."

"Perhaps there's a new generation of interlopers." She waved a hand along the prints she'd been examining. "These could lead in that direction, as well. But even if Ercliff is inhabited again, we can't move the humans tonight. They've already traveled a full day."

"And the meal?" The woman gestured at what remained of the stag.

"The killer was inexperienced." Riza turned to start the trek back to their horses, sharing a look with Olivier when she did. "I'm wondering if our missing village elder may have accepted a transition as payment for his betrayal, rather than coin."

"I'd love to get my hands on the bastard...I'll tear his damn head off."

" _After_ I talk to him….then I may help you." Her lips pursed disapprovingly, and she added a curse under her breath in old Cretan, " _Merda_...who knows how many other towns he's helped them attack."

The other blonde shook her head in frustration. "Between the draugur turning every criminal they can find, and humans selling each other out, it's a wonder we make any progress at all."

"I don't have the energy for that debate." They emerged onto the woodland roadway, each woman rising into their respective saddles, and ambled in the direction of the caravan. The road itself was quite picturesque, with winding limbs hanging over their heads and pale streams of late evening light breaking through them to marble the ground below. She'd always enjoyed the relative silence of the forest, the ambient sounds of nature a welcome reprieve from the consistent bustle that accompanied life in a stronghold.

With a glance around them, Olivier commented, "We're making good time, at least. If we keep this up we'll reach Halsted late tomorrow."

"Let's hope for no surprises," she replied, reaching upward to tug a leaf from a low-hanging branch.

"Stop pretending you like your travels boring."

"Alright," Riza said with a smirk, their party already coming into view ahead. "I might like a _few_ surprises."

"The more violent the better."

They were met with looks and a few greetings when they rode into the temporary camp at the edge of the forest, a young hēlan coming to care for their horses after the pair dismounted. Humans and vampires alike milled about, some eating while others rested, still others fixing wagons, corralling animals, or doling out food. Many of the former were clearly nervous, but there was something about these larger-scale escorts that always seemed to bring the two species together. She supposed it was the inevitably slow travel of a wagon train, paired with the inherent dangers of the open road, which forced people to set aside their differences to increase their chances of survival.

Strolling through that flurry of activity, she moved toward one side of the road, where Maes stood with Miles. "Ercliff may be a problem...double the patrols tonight, and send a few men to the old castle to be safe."

Hughes nodded, glancing down the road. "I'll send Havoc, if that's acceptable."

"Yes. Have him take Kimblee, and tell them to be quick about it." She hefted the saddle bags higher on her shoulder. "Anything I should know?"

"I scouted ahead, it was quiet," Miles informed them, removing his weapons in anticipation of the rest in his near future.

"No incidents," Hughes began. "Everyone's a bit wary of mischief when you're involved." He then tilted his head slightly, as if unsure. "That abusive baker you mentioned...I made sure he and a couple of his more unsavory friends stayed behind. There's no sign they've followed, but I'm keeping an eye out all the same."

"Good. If anything happens, I'd be _happy_ to deal with it."

He smiled. "You'll be the first to know. We can't let Liv have all the fun."

"No we cannot."

"I heard that, and I disagree," the woman in question interjected, already retreating to find food and wine.

"Where's the girl?" she asked, eyes roving over the collection of weary travelers.

He pointed toward the line of vehicles. "I placed her in the second covered wagon."

"Thank you, Maes." Riza turned away, making for the forward-most fire. "Feel free to join Havoc and Kimblee if you'd like to stretch your legs." He nodded as he left to fulfill her various orders, while her tired feet carried her toward the edge of the encampment, where Hughes would have started something delectable roasting on a spit.

Many townspeople overtly avoided her gaze and, while she was accustomed to being treated with such wariness by both species, at times it was a touch irritating. She'd quite recently risked her life to rescue them, and they seemed to think she was ever on the verge of tearing them limb from limb. Fortunately, she had been blessed with self-control. Still, that reaction was one of several reasons Maes generally interacted with the humans, as he terrified them a good deal less than someone like her. She'd been told on multiple occasions that the red in her eyes was alarming.

Absentmindedly tossing a twig into the fire, she dropped to the ground across from Miles and set her sword to her left, accepting a small cup from him. "Thanks." From the aroma she gleaned it was a mixture of fresh doe's blood and black tea, one brewed with a hint of cloves if she was not mistaken. "You hunted on your scouting trip, I take it."

He nodded, sipping from his own mug. "The villagers are still nervous, as you've probably noticed. A few offered to let us drink, but that would only frighten the others." Miles' eyes followed the group of vetala leaving to investigate Castle Ercliff. "Havoc brought something back as well. He has good instincts when it comes to the humans. But then…" His knowing gaze found hers. "...no doubt that's why you're having him work with Hughes so often. Pulling strings like some puppet master."

Her lips curved as she drank, shrugging as if she could not imagine where such accusations came from. "He's distracted at times, but Havoc's coming along well." At a sudden recollection, she reached into one of her saddle bags and tossed him a tiny phial of blood. "I didn't have a chance to give this to you before...from Tomás."

Olivier paused just beyond the firelight upon hearing that name, before handing her a parcel and taking a seat beside Miles. She settled piercing eyes on her and asked, "Heart or head?"

"A bit of both. I snapped his neck and took his heart."

Her expression turned to one of satisfaction. "The damn blackguard deserved it."

"A million-fold," she concurred, noting the sadness that soon monopolized their expressions. Miles and Olivier had a son once, but a week after his sixth birthday the draugur attacked and Tomás drained the boy dry. No amount of blood could save him. That was five-hundred years ago, and they had been hunting the elusive shadow-walker ever since.

Riza ripped a chunk from the loaf of bread she'd caught, while the pair across from her slowly opened the vial and split its contents. It was an older custom concerning the death of an enemy, not often practiced anymore, but she knew it was one they would appreciate, given their history. A smirk then formed on her face, and she set a couple fingers above her collarbone, the location mirroring that of a red lesion healing on Miles' neck. "Vidienne?"

He nodded, tearing a leg from the rabbit roasting above the fire. "How could you tell?"

"She often enjoyed a nice decapitation...though it seems she wasn't terribly good at it."

"I never liked her. So _predictable_..." Olivier replied with a disdain that soon turned to as teasing a tone as she ever used. "...it's why was I able to save his life."

"Your timing _was_ impeccable," came Miles' response as he kissed the back of his wife's hand, a rare public demonstration of their affection.

"It always is, if you ask her," Riza added, reaching over to pull off a chunk of thigh meat.

"I speak only the truth."

"Olivier the Candid...that's what everyone calls you," Miles teased.

"What ungrateful friends I have."

"Aren't we though?" Riza shared a look with the man across the fire-pit. "We should be kinder to Olivier."

"That you should," the other blonde affirmed, taking a long and undeniably grateful swig of wine.

"I haven't slept in two days. It's your turn to keep an eye on things." She finished her tea and borrowed the jug of wine for a draw of her own, stretching out on the ground and using her jacket as an admittedly mediocre pillow. Slivers of a starry sky were visible between the boughs above, and she could make out snippets of a familiar cluster, a bright grouping of eleven stars known as the velum fidirae. As she lay there staring up at them, the crackle of the fire fading into the background, she could not help but recall the lonely night several centuries prior when those same stars served as a guide.

Back then the forest road on which they traveled did not exist, and she was many miles from home in unfamiliar terrain, having never ventured into that corner of the world. She was young, so young she'd still healed much like a human and, even today, if one looked closely they might find the thin scar that ran along her jaw and beyond her hairline. A pale, unassuming memento from the worst night of her life.

Shrugging off dark memories, she adjusted the makeshift pillow and closed her eyes to simply listen: to the air playing through the trees, to the quiet tread of boots coming and going, to the snap of sparks jettisoned from the fire. Her repose was short-lived, however, because a potentially sinister noise interrupted the gentle hum of activity of the sleepy camp. It was an unintelligible cry, muffled by distance or some other cause, and she sat up quickly, trying to gauge the direction from which it had originated.

At the same moment she noticed that both Olivier and Miles had already dozed, and with an amused shake of the head she rose silently to her feet. Crossing the road, she melted into the trees, the sun having disappeared completely to turn the forest into a labyrinth of dark pillars and shadows. The inconvenience was minimal, as she'd always been able to see quite well at night, and her choice of path was shortly confirmed by a muted argument ahead, as well as the aroma of fresh blood. Extremely fresh.

"... _dare_ you think you can leave with these swine," declared an unfamiliar male voice. "You do nothing unless I allow it."

"Leave her _alone_ , Robert," replied a second voice, one she recognized as the young Lord Mustang, a hint of menace in his tone.

Finally she approached a diminutive clearing, more the space between a few trees than a true glade, and against one trunk the girl bitten by Tomás slumped blearily, blood oozing from beneath the hand clamped to her leg. In front of her stood Mustang, with a somewhat pudgy, malodorous man holding him at sword-point, blood trickling along the blade. Just then the human lunged, and the raven-haired vampire caught the man's wrist with one hand and his neck with the other. The stranger produced a knife with his free hand and Riza strode forward to grip his arm, calmly saying, "I wouldn't recommend it."

"This is no business of yours, sanguiferus bitch," the assailant spat.

"Drop the weapons." She glanced at the young woman to ensure she was still conscious. " _Now_."

"I'd do as the lady commands, Robert," Mustang quietly added, the softest of lilts in his speech, a remnant of the dialect he spoke when young and human.

The man reluctantly let both blades fall to the ground and she shoved him across the little clearing, stepping between the combatants. "What the hell is going on here?"

"As I said," he sneered. "It's nothing to do with _you_."

"You've attacked a hēlan, which makes it my concern. And you're quite rude for someone whose life I may have just saved."

"I owe you no respect. Your lot come here...acting the hero...thinking you can take whatever you like." He waved an unconcerned hand at Lan Fan. "She's _my_ daughter."

"You tried to _kill_ her," Mustang intoned.

She gave the portly baker a sharp look. "You threatened the girl?"

"Her life is mine to threaten," he declared, pointing at himself as emphasis. "You can't take her."

"No one's taking her...it's Lan Fan's _choice_ ," the other vampire interjected. "The further from you, the better off she is."

"You were hired to protect us from shadow-walkers, hēlan, not disrespect our customs," the man replied, his demeanor unbelievably arrogant considering his current circumstances. "I don't need your opinion. I'm her father, and that means I can do with her as I please."

Riza's jaw set at those words, head tilting as she eyed him with distaste, and the desire to rip out his jugular suddenly washed over her. "As far as I'm concerned, you relinquished whatever parental rights you had the moment you first struck her. She's under our protection now." Eyes still on the human, she addressed the vampire behind her, "Would you like to do the honors?"

"I _would_." She stepped aside and Mustang wrapped a hand around the baker's neck once more, lifting him a full foot off the ground. "For reasons I don't entirely comprehend, Lan Fan has repeatedly asked me not to hurt you, but let me be frank. You _will not_ survive our next encounter. Understood?"

"Yes," the man croaked, scrambling away as soon as his boots hit the dirt.

Quickly kneeling beside the girl, Riza peeled her hand away to find a worryingly deep gash to her upper thigh and, based upon the amount of blood already lost, it was possible her father had clipped the femoral artery. Catching Mustang's eye, she asked, "Has she fed?"

He shook his head, mouth forming a worried line. "Not yet. She's still...adjusting. I was bringing her some of the stag Havoc killed when I noticed she was missing."

"I have something that may help." She rose, lifting the young woman easily as she did. "I'd like you to follow him. We need to be certain he leaves for good." When his concerned gaze moved to Lan Fan, she added, "I'll send someone to take your place, but I don't want to lose his trail. Apparently he's quite good at concealing it, because none of my men found him."

"The bastard _was_ one of the best trackers in the region...before the alcoholism." He considered her for a moment, and then paced backward in the same direction in which the man called Robert had left. "Very well, Hawkeye."

"Thank you, Lord Mustang."

"Not lord, just Mustang," he rejoined with a little smirk, mirroring her words from the day before. "I'm no longer future lord of anything."

Her lips had begun to curve in response to his joke, but it faltered at the abrupt resurgence of her guilt, because it was ultimately her fault that his family died, that he never became Lord of Glenwycke Castle. Piotr and his conspirators had been _her_ responsibility. They were under her command and yet managed to slip away unnoticed to slaughter an entire keep, and by the time she realized, the damage had already been done. Granted, it was not the first grisly scene upon which she'd stumbled, nor would it be the last, but she'd never forgotten the tragedy.

It had always been her intention to assist the young Lord Mustang in his transition, because she was not in the habit of giving people her blood and leaving them to die, but she'd never been given the opportunity. In fact, until she saw him in the forest outside Freyne, she had assumed he was dead, and she was undeniably curious to learn how he survived on his own. It was never an easy feat to endure the transformation from human to vetala, not to mention doing so alone and likely delirious.

A mildly slurred voice ended her reflections by declaring, "I can walk." As if to prove the point, the girl began to squirm weakly in her arms, trying to lower herself to the ground.

"You're a _stubborn_ patient, I see." Riza adjusted her grip, holding the young woman securely against her chest. "And no, you can't. There's a fairly serious cut on your leg, or have you forgotten?"

Her head swiveled lazily. "Where's Roy?"

"Tracking your father to make sure he doesn't double back." She caught the girl's eye. "How did he get you alone?"

Her expression sheepish, she let out an irritated huff. "I went off on my own...stupid, I know." She lowered her voice. "But the women in that wagon talk _constantly_ , and if I have to listen to it any longer there's no telling what I'll do. Can I please have a horse when we leave in the morning?"

"I'm not sure you'll be doing much riding with this leg, but we'll see." They'd already reached the road, and she hurried to the small fire she'd only recently left. Miles woke immediately and, at his questioning gaze, she told him, "There's a human I need you to trail. Mustang's following him right now...kindly relieve him."

"Certainly." He picked up his sword with a chuckle and strolled away, sharing a warm, private look with Olivier. "Who needs rest, anyway?"

His wife stood to stretch, her eyes following him across the road. "What happened?"

"A villager thought he could own another person," Riza replied, setting Lan Fan carefully on the dirt. "I explained why I felt he was incorrect...and yes, before you ask, he's still alive."

Liv nodded, patting the sheath at her hip. "I'll take a look around...make sure this visitor didn't bring any friends."

"Thank you." Riza once again filled her own mug with the cocktail she'd enjoyed earlier and handed it to the young woman. "Drink this." With a delicate touch she pushed fabric aside to assess the cut, looking up when Lan Fan continued to watch the cup hesitantly. "It's alright...just blood and tea."

"Blood from…?" Evidently, she was not yet prepared to say _whom_.

"A young doe." She gingerly ran a finger tip along the edge of the injury, which was nearly an inch deep. "It's also quite palatable with white wine, but I find with red it's a bit heavy."

An amused smile creeping onto her face, the woman drank and, unwilling as she likely was to enjoy the experience, her pupils dilated a fraction at the taste. Rather than remark upon it, she said, "Thank you for not killing my father." She paused to sip again, eyeing the liquid with that mixture of disgust and relish common in those who were once human. "I hate the bastard, but I don't need him to die to never see him again. Especially not anymore."

"You're welcome." Reaching into one of her packs, she produced a bottle and poured several drops of the oil therein onto a torn-off section of cloth. "This is cineris oil. It'll temporarily halt blood loss...giving your healing time to catch up. And it _will_ sting." Using the fabric, she lightly applied the unction to the cut, and her patient inhaled sharply, stiffening in response but relaxing only seconds later. She was no stranger to pain.

Lan Fan watched her curiously after the initial wave of discomfort passed, holding her skirt out of the way and already drinking absentmindedly, as she would any old cup of tea. " _Your_ father must be four-hundred years old, or an even more ridiculous number."

" _Lan Fan_..." Mustang softly reproved as he crossed the road to join them, his still troubled face flushed, as if he'd sprinted the entire trip. "...that's not generally considered a polite question."

"It's alright." Riza added more oil to the fabric, dabbing it over the wound. "My father was almost six-hundred years old when he died."

"Oh," the girl replied, voice falling in the way it often does when one realizes they inadvertently dredged up some sad memory. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She smirked at her loquacious patient, wrapping the leg in additional strips of linen torn from Lan Fan's skirts. "I hated the bastard." She felt them both watching her, trying to decide whether she was being truthful or simply joking. "I'm afraid there'll be no riding for you yet, young lady."

She snickered, covering her leg. "That's what Roy always calls me." With a sigh, she added, "I'm not _that_ young."

Amused, Riza caught Mustang's eye momentarily. "To us, you are." Pulling her collar aside to check the bites, she added, "These are healing nicely, Olivier's venom helped with that. And we'll see about letting you ride in a couple days. If you don't die of boredom before then, of course."

"I'll try to survive." Lan Fan smiled.

"Now," Mustang began sternly. "Explain to me just what you were thinking going into the forest _alone_ , in draugur territory, in the middle of the night. We agreed you'd stay on the road...with _people_."

"I had to relieve myself, and get away from everyone else before I lose my mind completely." She hugged herself, taking another drink. " _Four hours_ spent talking about chickens, Roy. You'd contemplate murder, too."

The hēlan found Riza's gaze once more, the crinkling around his eyes a sure sign there was affectionate teasing to come. "She can be a bit melodramatic."

"She's also _right here_ ," Lan Fan retorted, motioning to herself with one hand while somewhat self-consciously requesting a refill by holding out the mug.

The blonde tossed the now ruined fabric into the flames and obliged the request, her mouth curving in amusement, because she might as well have been in the company of two bickering siblings. The scene was even reminiscent of that short-lived exchange she'd seen him share with his sister so many years ago, with the same easy familiarity and friendly banter. She was temporarily distracted from that infectious conviviality, however, when her eye was drawn to a series of faded scars along the outer aspect of the man's forearm, previously hidden by now rolled sleeves. They overlapped each other haphazardly, giving her the strong suspicion they'd been caused by a lash of some kind, and her curiosity flared once again.

Just then a remarkably impolite interruption came in the form of a body unceremoniously dropped into the circle of firelight, soon accompanied by a little shriek of surprise from Lan Fan. Mustang stood sharply, one hand reaching for the weapon at his hip, however Riza simply sighed and raised her hand to catch the heart that was soon lobbed in her direction. The crass form of announcement indicated the identity of her new visitor and, blood dribbling down her wrist, she dryly greeted, "For future reference, Kimblee, I prefer such gifts to be _living_."

"I think you missed me, Hawk." He grinned and winked cheekily at Lan Fan and Mustang, who still watched him warily. "Did you hear it in her voice? There was definitely something...I think she's warming up to me."

"You misheard. I thought you might be dead." She rose to her feet with a shrug. "Ah, well, disappointed hopes and all that."

"I'm hurt..." he began in his usual irreverent tone.

"Who is this?" Riza interjected, nudging the corpse with her toe before holding up the heart to add, "And _whose_ was this?"

"Interesting story….the gentleman at your feet is a scout. His name was Mark, or Erik, or possibly..."

" _Kimblee_."

"Yes, the heart. That belonged to a delightful little thing called Christina, she was surprisingly strong. Methinks Ercliff may be a bigger problem than initially thought." He waved a hand toward the trees from which he'd materialized, inviting her to follow him. "And we've brought something else I think you might enjoy."

She narrowed her eyes a fraction, pausing to analyze the newest scent on the wind, and tossed him the heart. "Clean up your mess, Solf."

"Perhaps you'd like me to accompany you to..."

"Don't bother. I can _smell_ him." She tried to soften her abruptly cold expression, to avoid alarming the newly turned vampire. "You're welcome to rest here, Lan Fan, and drink as much as you require. Do excuse me...I won't be long." She took another mug from Miles' pack and followed the scent wafting from the general direction of Ercliff Castle, her mind far from the pleasant evening around her.

Her walk lasted a mere ten minutes, at which point she came upon Hughes and Havoc speaking to the captive lashed to a tree. She had not seen Kristoff for hundreds of years, and the past few decades had obviously been unkind given the dull blond hair that was once vibrant, the sallow tinge of his already pale skin. His eyes widened with fear when he saw her, and he strained against his bonds to no avail. "Lady Hawkeye," he spluttered. "I didn't have a _choice_...you must und..."

"I must understand nothing," she interrupted curtly, her knuckles turned white around the cup.

"Hawk?" Hughes asked uncertainly, voice kept low, indicating he already suspected the draugur's declaration had nothing to do with their current caravan of humans.

"Everything's quite alright," she reassured, kneeling before the prisoner to look directly into eyes that were the bright red of carnations.

"Please, my lady..." the prisoner whispered in desperation. "...you know what he would've done to me."

"I do." Riza took a breath, forcing her clenched fingers to relax and refusing to lose her equanimity. "And it would've been a kindness compared to what he did to _her_." She drew a dagger and twirled it deftly with her fingers. "It seems you've fallen from grace, Kristoff. A pity."

" _Please_ ," he repeated, even more softly. "I'll tell you ev..."

"There's nothing you can tell me that I can't find out for myself," she said, placing the blade's edge at the captive's carotid artery. He trembled but, to his credit, continued to hold her gaze while awaiting what he considered his inescapable demise. She enjoyed that for several moments before making a petite cut and holding the mug beneath it to catch the blood that ran from the wound, using the blade to briefly keep it from healing. He exhaled in relief to find himself still alive, and she could almost feel Hughes and Havoc relax as well, but she kept the knife at his throat. "Do not mistake this mercy for weakness. I presume you're aware of what else transpired that night?"

"Yes," he replied shakily, barely nodding his head.

"You're going to help us."

"Of course, my lady. Anything..."

"I'll be visiting Ercliff soon. Until then, you'll keep the draugur away from the road, and you'll tell them the forest was clear." She ran the tip of the dagger along his jawline, briefly slicing down to the bone to drive her next point home. "And if you betray us in any way, Kristoff, I will pluck each and every bone from your miserable body with my bare hands." Riza paused to watch his pulse beat rapidly. "Is that clear?"

"Yes," he breathed.

"Excellent. Let him go, Maes." Rising to her feet, she wiped the weapon clean on a handkerchief provided by Havoc, finding it preferable to the prisoner's filthy shirt, and watched him slink away as hurriedly as he dared. She eyed the vessel of blood, the odor far from enticing, and then caught Hughes' gaze. "Kimblee's victims?"

"They attacked, he defended himself. He behaved..." His shrug was one-sided. "...for Kimblee."

"Good." She started to turn away, adding, "Get some rest."

"Shall we follow?" Maes asked, nodding his head in the direction of Kristoff's retreat and observing her like there were many questions on his tongue which he knew better than to ask.

"Not necessary. I believe he's sufficiently terrified."

Riza continued until she was certain darkness had made her invisible, slowing before she reached the fire and its comforts. With another unappreciative look at the contents of the mug, she tipped it back and drank it in one swig, one corner of her mouth furrowing in mild aversion. The liquid tasted much like Kristoff had looked, thin and feeble, without that strong undercurrent of zinc common in the blood of shadow-walkers, and even lacking the oft inherent honeyed notes.

His many memories began to play out in her mind's eye, and a forlorn smile leapt to her face when she saw the young blonde woman. She wore a lovely dress of creamy silk and finely-crafted Aerugonian lace, wisps of hair framed her face, and she smiled, for that moment blissfully unaware of the barbarity of her own circumstances. Behind her a few bright peonies had been lovingly arranged in a vase, and a stack of sheet music rested on the table, the pages painstakingly lined and notes flawlessly transcribed over many hours. As ever her blue eyes shone, and Riza was reminded of her sister's simple radiance, capable of lifting spirits by her mere presence.

Kristoff had been one of the last people to see her alive, and she was irrationally jealous that _he'd_ borne witness to one of her final, happy moments. The image of her sister seared into _her_ mind was decidedly more heartrending and, as the memory ended, she wiped a traitorous tear from her cheek. Eventually his more recent recollections came to the forefront and, composing her expression, she continued toward the camp.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the chapter, and have a great day!


	4. The Raid on Ercliff Castle

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hola :)

* * *

 **The Raid on Ercliff Castle**

The Antikvja had existed in one form or another for many centuries, and its current name meant either 'the forgotten one' or 'the ancient one,' depending upon whether one felt the title was Drachman or Malchovan in origin. As far as pubs went, the establishment could have been considered quite ordinary, with its dirt-laden plank floors and unexceptional selection of spirits decorating the shelves. It was full of the chatter of local residents and travelers alike, with the obligatory rowdy group stashed at a table in the darkest corner, and the windows had been thrown open to mitigate body heat. A pair of barmaids skirted their way around wooden tables, depositing full tankards here and collecting empty ones there, and constantly dropping off plates of a surprisingly pleasant roast lamb.

The first glaring departure from those pubs frequented mainly by humans came with the bright red paint over the entrance, meant to signify that vetala were welcome. The second and, for some, more disconcerting distinction came with the inclusion of sânge on the menu, and The Antikvja boasted an impressive selection. Patrons could choose from a variety of wildlife, anything from the incredibly common doe to the rarer Drachman brown bear, or they could simply venture through the large black door in the rear of the room to drink from any of several willing human hosts. Some offered themselves in exchange for handsome compensation, while others hoped to eventually be turned, though that wish was not often granted.

In such places Roy preferred the fauna-inspired menu, in part because drinking directly from a human had never become a favored experience, and also because animal offerings were more reliable. No four-legged creature had ever tried to entice him to feed in exchange for coin, and for some reason he doubted that the vetting process was at all intensive to select the humans beyond the black door. In short, he liked to control from whence his food came.

He'd broken that particular rule earlier in the evening, however, because Lan Fan had _needed_ to feed on human blood, and he knew she'd never do so alone. Therefore, he had ordered something from an adult male in his forties for its more mild flavor, tasted both chalices to verify it was correct, and then they shared a drink. She was understandably unsettled and wanted to be alone, which was one reason he currently found himself at a heavy oak table, pushing the remainder of his roast lamb around the tin plate and drinking a combination of tequila and sânge from that Drachman bear (it had robust coppery notes to which he was still unaccustomed).

"How'd she fare?" Hughes asked, placing one hand on the back of a chair in a non-verbal request to join him.

Roy nodded, waving at the seat in invitation. "Pretty well...more or less. She needed a minute."

"She's handling the transition better than many I've seen." He took a swig of whatever was sloshing around his glass, which looked to be vodka. "Better than I did."

He handed his mostly cleared plate to a barmaid with an appreciative smile. "I wasn't aware you were once human."

The man nodded. "Four-hundred-seventy years ago the draugur attacked my village. Ransacked, killed everyone, set buildings on fire...the usual. I was caught beneath my burning home, and then Hawk pulled me out." He chuckled quietly. "Nearly dislocated my shoulder, too."

At the mention of her name Roy's eyes roved toward the table Hawkeye shared with her frequent companions, Miles and the woman he'd learned was Olivier Armstrong. Tilting his head in their direction, he asked, "What can you tell me about them?"

Before Hughes could answer, Kimblee landed heavily in the seat across from him and provided, "They're the _kirmaez_ , and you'll keep your distance if you know what's good for you."

"Don't listen to him, they're perfectly..."

"Hughes...always the good dog," their new guest responded, with an unfettered note of derision. "Always defending them, despite the fact all three have been accused of poaching, but that doesn't..."

" _You_ were a poacher when we found you...how quickly you forget." Hughes' reply was sharp.

"Anyway, word is Armstrong likes to rip off heads on occasion, and I hear Hawkeye killed her first husband. Or was it her second? And..."

" _Kimblee_ ," Maes interrupted, warning in his tone.

"Fine, but you cannot deny she killed four of her own men...three hundred years or so past." Roy stiffened subtly, and the man must have taken that as a sign of interest. "Ended them like _that_..." Kimblee snapped to emphasize the point. "...and for what? Doing what she's no doubt done a thousand times?"

"A fate _more_ than deserved by each of those bastards," another familiar voice said. "They obliterated an innocent family, you idiot...I'm taking this seat, by the way." A moment later a hand gripped the back of Kimblee's neck and lifted him out of the chair.

"Hawkeye doled out much needed punishment that night. You shouldn't speak of what you don't know, Solf," Hughes added, his voice quiet and menacing. He caught Roy's eye and, though he'd suspected the man had recognized him the night the village was attacked, this was the first blatant indication he'd given. He tried to express his gratitude for the verbal gesture via his expression.

Kimblee held up his hands as if in surrender and, while walking away, muttered, "I'm simply trying to give the newcomer fair warning."

" _Idiot_ ," Havoc repeated, taking the chair just vacated.

Hughes chuckled lightly again. "You said that."

"I, for one, think it bears repeating," the most recent arrival replied, a pipe hanging from his lips and a few drops of dried blood spattered on his clothes. "Mustang."

"Havoc," he replied, returning the greeting with a raise of the glass. He then took a long drink, trying to push aside the images of his dying family that had been dredged up by Kimblee's tirade. Suddenly finding the heat within the pub slightly oppressive, he drained the rest of his beverage and excused himself. "I should check on Lan Fan."

He did indeed take a quick detour to the upper floors, and he could not deny his selfish relief when he saw she was sleeping peacefully. Shutting the door with a soft click, he exited the building and strolled into the night, moving a short distance into the trees behind the small establishment before he stopped. He took a deep breath and paced several steps, practically able to smell the blood that had soaked his clothing that evening, the horrid foam that spewed from his sister's mouth still clear as day.

Roy continued through the brief grove of trees, eventually coming upon a large meadow full of tall grasses and wild flowers that he knew stretched westward for a few miles. With a sigh he jerked a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for so easily returning to that hell even after three centuries. He never expected the pain to vanish entirely, but he should have learned to handle it better after all that time. He could almost hear Sofia blithely reprimanding him for being too hard on himself, it had been a favorite pastime of hers.

"It appears we've had the same idea," a voice said, and he turned to find Hawkeye leaning against a tree with her arms crossed. Pushing off, she added, "I apologize for intruding, but I thought you should know someone else was here. I'll leave you to it."

"No, it's alright." He faced the meadow, idly pulling apart a leaf from a nearby tree. "When did you sneak out?"

"Around the time Kimblee started that unfortunate little speech," she said quietly, standing to his left and twirling the stem of a flower between her fingers, and when she next spoke her voice had softened. "I am truly sorry for what happened to your family, Mustang." She paused, rubbing a thumb over one of the petals. "Never again did such blatant negligence occur. Nor will it, I assure you."

He looked over slowly, shocked, because in his years of mourning it had never dawned on him that the woman that _saved his life_ might be harboring guilt. After a short silence, in which he digested that revelation, he finally said, "I've never blamed you, and in fact I'm grateful." He tossed the torn leaf away, the pieces floating down between blades of grass. "You kept me alive and, more importantly, you tried to save Sofia. Thank you."

Hawkeye gave him a little nod, the corners of her lips turned upward only slightly, as if she did not quite believe she deserved the sentiment. "Of course." She looked away again, and he was abruptly reminded of the sadness in her expression the night before, after she'd returned from dealing with the draugur prisoner. If not for his repeated dream, he never would have caught it, but he'd seen her heartbroken eyes so many times it was impossible to miss even the barest trace of that emotion. He could not help but wonder what had caused it, and her voice again interrupted his thoughts when she said, "I was pleased to see you survived the transition. That couldn't have been easy."

"It certainly wasn't enjoyable, but here I am." He shook his head. "I was surprised you remembered me, to be honest. I was one human out of what must be thousands."

"I've not given blood to many people. I remember them well."

"Neither have I." He smiled. "It may be a tad late for a real introduction, but I'm Roy."

Her lips curved, and she shook his proffered hand. "Riza."

The blood surely drained from his face, because he'd never actually _met_ her, never once heard her given name spoken aloud before or after his transition, and yet impossibly it had cropped up in that damnable dream of his. Since the classification of that centuries-old dream as a form of prescience seemed inaccurate, he was forced to consider that the rumors floating about of memory-manipulating vetala were not entirely far-fetched after all. Not to mention the fact that, if it was indeed a memory, it meant she _had_ poached, and he'd essentially relived that experience a million times over. He quickly regained control of his expression and organized his temporarily derailed mind, but then a voice he recognized as Hughes abruptly said, "Hawk...we're ready."

Releasing his hand, she glanced over at the approaching hēlan with a nod. "I'm afraid that means my respite is over. Good evening, Mustang."

With another of her polite smiles of farewell she started away, but he soon caught up with her, his interest flared. "If you're investigating Ercliff, I'd like to go."

Hawkeye contemplated him for a moment, and then asked a question he never would have anticipated. "Can you swim?"

One corner of his mouth quirked in confusion. "Yes."

"Very well." The response seemed more cryptic than anything else, and she remained silent during the brief stroll to the inn. A group of other hēlans from her coven had already gathered near one corner of the building, and when they drew closer she said, "Havoc...you're to remain here. Be sure to look in on Lan Fan from time to time and, if her father resurfaces, keep him here. Hughes, you'll take the main force through the front entrance...Liv, you'll handle the eastern gate with Miles...I'll enter through the southern gate with Mustang." She paused, removing the slim sheath strapped to her thigh and tossing it to Havoc. "According to Kristoff there are approximately ten draugur that pose a substantial threat. Most at Ercliff will be young or human...save those you can, but we can't accommodate prisoners."

Rather than make for the stables, the majority of the hēlans started eastward at a run, but Miles clapped him on the shoulder, boasting the broadest grin he'd ever seen on the man. "Mind the gators, my friend."

Mildly taken aback at the very least, Roy's eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened to inquire after the precise situation into which he'd impetuously thrown himself, however Olivier spoke first. "Are you _certain_ he's strong enough? If there are any true elders present, they'll run straight for the southern gate."

"I didn't face Tomás alone, Liv," Hawkeye replied with a pointed look, and despite the support he remained skeptical of his usefulness in that particular engagement.

Armstrong turned her sharp blue gaze on him, head tilting in slight approval. "That, and you're tired of Miles' complaining every time we go to Ercliff."

"I merely _prefer_ not to swim, and enjoy voicing that preference frequently," the man interjected with a hint of petulance, his gleeful smile lingering in a way that continued to concern Roy.

Hughes snorted. "I can say with complete confidence that was the understatement of the decade."

"The last lustrum at most," Miles corrected. "Remember when Olivier claimed to have an _assertive_ streak?" Glancing at the woman in question with clear fondness, he added, "You, my love, can be downright vicious."

"I do hate to interrupt..." Hawkeye interjected pleasantly. "...but _move_." As the remainder of the group strode away, the blonde turned her attention to him with a raised eyebrow, silently asking if he was prepared to leave. "They have to take the long way round, but we have more time if you need it."

"I'm ready," he replied, momentarily bending to remove the sheathed dagger from his boot and strap it to his forearm instead, to have it within easier reach. The entire knife was carved from stone, with a leather-wrapped handle, an impressively sharpened edge, and a polished shine that would put any metal blade to shame. Since they were returning to Ercliff on foot, he'd rather travel light, and it was a weapon he did not mind subjecting to water.

Once he'd finished they jogged in a more northeasterly direction, passing between two cabins into an open field, and he found himself placing his feet carefully to avoid rolling an ankle on the soft ground. The moon was bright but, given the line of trees they quickly approached, he knew the light would not be a benefit for long. And he noted that it must have rained during his time in the pub, because humidity thickened the air and droplets of moisture clung to the grasses, transferring unpleasantly to his trousers.

Hawkeye was just visible out of the corner of his left eye, the pace she set unwavering and far too rapid for any human to match. He sucked in a breath as they entered the forest and cleared his throat, finally asking, " _Gators_?"

"Pay no mind to Miles." She smiled, vaulting seamlessly over a felled tree. "He just hates the southern gate."

He followed suit, catching the trunk with one hand and swinging his legs over it, never even breaking his stride. "And I'm just wondering what I've gotten myself into."

"Only a short swim through the submerged bowels of an ancient fortress." She ducked below a low hanging branch, using her forearm to push a few lighter twigs out of her face, and he briefly separated to flank a massive tree.

Once more by her side, he rejoined, "That sounds positively idyllic."

Hawkeye smirked appreciatively. "There's really nothing like dark tunnels and cold water." She shrugged, already slowing, and said, "Miles is convinced something _lives_ down there..."

"And the truth comes out."

She side-eyed him with amusement, strolling slowly and occasionally tapping the ground forcefully with the heel of her boot. "...but I've never seen evidence to support that _ridiculous_ claim." Just then her step produced a hollow, echoing thud, and he heard her mutter, "Almost thought I was in the wrong place." The blonde bent to reach for something at ground level, and when she rose a rusted, iron door swung upward, dried leaves and crawling brush falling through the shadowy hole it had concealed. "Thirty feet," she warned, meeting his gaze, and then without a shred of hesitation she dropped down into darkness.

Roy soon followed, hoping she'd moved aside as he could see absolutely nothing below, and when he landed heavily it was on stone and not her back. He stretched out his arms to either side to find that the corridor they occupied was narrow, four feet wide by his estimation, and the air around him was stale with a touch of mildew. The walls themselves were damp, and as his eyes adjusted further he could make out black streaks in the corners where floor met wall, possibly patches of mold or grime from centuries of disuse. Water trickled through some unseen conduit nearby, and fragments of dead leaf fluttered slowly downward around him.

When he caught her eye, she was watching him from where she leaned against the wall, waiting patiently for his vision to acclimate to the extreme lack of light, and his head tilted when the realization finally came to him. _Hawkeye was part draugur_. In truth, the garnet rings in her eyes should have given it away instantly, but as a human he did not know better, and afterward he'd been too distracted for that precise detail to fall into place. First he was mired in a painful transition, and then came years of a dream in which there were features of greater note than the hint of red in glistening eyes. And, he supposed, he'd simply never associated her with the violent shadow-walkers he'd spent his life combating. In light of the stories Kimblee evidently enjoyed spreading, the urge to tread carefully around her would be understandable. However, he'd borne witness to her capacity for kindness, and be it foolish or naive, or both, he was inclined to believe her violence would have a purpose loftier than mere perverse pleasure.

"We'll have more light soon," she said, her voice carrying in the empty hallway despite how softly she'd spoken.

It was then he noticed she was standing beside the entrance to another corridor and, at his nod that he was ready, she spun around the corner, leading the way into even deeper shadows. They traversed several hallways and descended multiple utilitarian stairwells, and through it all the air remained dank, with the presence of water steadily increasing, as indicated by the periodic splash when their feet landed in shallow puddles. He stayed close, using mostly sound and a hand on the wall to keep himself oriented, his curiosity piquing each time the stone vanished as they passed another passageway. Down one he even saw a faint, gray light that eddied as though reflected off the minuscule ripples of a pond, and it spurred the temptation to investigate. He could only imagine what manner of secrets were contained in these forgotten halls.

The intense darkness began to abate, so gradually it was undetectable, until he was suddenly aware that Hawkeye was no longer a formless blur against a backdrop of stone. That light grew brighter as they traveled deeper through the stronghold, and eventually took on that same liquid quality, except here it was a more argent glow, illuminating every imperfection in the walls around him. When it reached its peak they exited the corridor, stopping on the landing of what must once have been an impressively grand staircase. Water lapped lazily a few feet from where they stood, and below the surface ever-widening stone steps stretched downward, framed on either side by carved railings.

The glow came from an intricate design embedded in the walls themselves, a series of runes and symbols engraved into a single row of stones that ran the perimeter of the room. That layer was just a few feet above his head, and he took a few steps closer to examine the quintessentially drauguran light source. The light seemed almost liquid itself, ebbing and flowing within the confines of the etchings, and he quietly said, "Lucis veterum...I've never seen it."

"It's dissipated on the other levels. No one knows why." Hawkeye started down the staircase, pausing when the water reached her thighs to add, "Probably because there's hardly anyone alive that remembers what it actually _is_."

"No one?" he asked, venturing into the chilled water himself. "Really?"

"Only one person of whom I'm aware, and he's not interested in sharing." She paced forward again, and seemed to stifle a shiver before pointing toward a tall, submerged archway directly across the room. "There's a passageway through there, and we usually have to swim about halfway down before we reach more open air."

"Understood," he said, and took several deep breaths, shaking out limbs already stiffening from the pervasive cold. Almost simultaneously they leaned forward, pushing off the edge of one step to dive beneath the glassy surface, swimming ever deeper. His vision was surprisingly clear, for which he was grateful, but his eyes somehow both burned from inundation and seemed to freeze in his skull. Once they passed through the archway, he began to feel the occasional gentle current pulling him toward an opening, no doubt a side effect of the water's movements.

Dimmer strips of lucis veterum ran along either side of the corridor at his eye level, though had he been walking the light would have been at least a foot above his head. The runes curved around corners into other spaces, growing brighter down one hallway and disappearing completely in another, and it was in those dark openings that the shadows seemed to move of their own accord. He quickly understood why Miles suspected the maze might boast marine life.

After passing eleven sunken doorways, and half as many passages, they dipped below another arch and came up into a pocket of air. He inhaled greedily, exhalations condensing to mist before his eyes, and gripped the sizable crack between two stones to give his still treading legs a rest. "Miles _doesn't_ enjoy this?"

Hawkeye let out a breathless little laugh, holding on to another imperfection in the wall and briefly resting her head against stone. "Incredible, I know." Her hair had been neatly plaited and twisted at the base of her skull, but several tendrils escaped during their swim and she reached up to push a lock from her neck. "The gate isn't far. And _occasionally_ someone's there...if the current guests know of it."

"What kind of odds are we dealing with?" he asked, despite his awareness that the answer mattered little as, unattended or otherwise, they would breach the southern gate. It was that simple.

"Slim." Her gaze wandered as she considered her response. "I've cleared this place out a hundred times, and they've had a guard here maybe fifteen of those. Much of the lower levels have been damaged over the years...most newcomers don't even know these halls exist."

With another of many deep breaths, she caught his eye and then let herself drop below the surface, kicking off the archway beneath which they'd recently plunged. They continued along the same corridor, with the light only dimming for brief intervals, and he remained awed by the ethereal beauty of the place. It was a seemingly endless parade of impressive stonework and mysterious carvings in languages he failed to recognize, all illuminated by the effervescent lucis veterum. Not for the first time, he wished he possessed both the time and lung capacity for a perusal of the many abandoned rooms.

The passage ended after only eight additional doorways, opening into a large space at the far end of which he could see a massive hearth, the fireback still blackened from past use. Hawkeye spun just beneath the arch, holding up a hand to indicate he should stop, and then then slowly disappeared upward. She returned quickly and, with some attempts at clarification on his part, eventually managed to communicate via gestures that the so-called gate was above them with two draugur standing guard.

He swung himself through the entrance and together they crawled up the wall, and Roy had to fight the obscene tension in his lungs to keep his breathing silent once he reached the surface. Looking up, he found the pair of draugur on the landing of a mostly submerged staircase, one man with stringy, brown hair leaning back against the railing atop which his friend sat, both clad in ratty cloaks. They were chatting in Aerugonian, about calves' livers if he were to hazard a guess, though admittedly he'd not had occasion to speak that particular language for at least two centuries.

He shared a fleeting look with Hawkeye and surged upward, gripping the rail with one hand and reaching over with the other to cup the lounging draugur's chin and snap his neck. Meanwhile she pulled herself higher still, planting her feet on either side of a baluster, grasping the other unsuspecting vetalan's head with both hands, and applying an impressive amount of torque. She pushed the man onto the landing and Roy swung a leg over the railing, taking her arm to prevent her from toppling backward into the water. "Thank you," she said on an exhale, straddling the balustrade and pausing a moment to rest.

He'd hardly formed a reply when he heard the creak of a bow from the darkened doorway several feet away, the sound amplified by walls of bare stone. He tilted his head, Hawkeye caught his eye with an imperceptible nod, and he pulled her back into the water, the arrow flying through the space she'd occupied an instant before. He felt her draw the stone dagger as they fell, and almost as soon as they'd plunged into the cold she was propelling herself upward to whip the knife into passageway. He surfaced in time to hear the crash of a falling body, and they hurriedly abandoned that indefensible position, vaulting over the rail, grabbing any potential weapon they could find, and flanking the opening.

They waited for the longest minute of his life, constantly straining to hear even a breath, hoping they had not been unexpectedly overrun, that the shadow-walker prisoner had not betrayed their plans. Eventually the blonde tapped two fingers on her own sternum, as if to say ' _me first_ ,' and peered around the corner. He saw her relax to a degree as she stepped through, her only weapon a petite chunk of stone, and he temporarily followed to drag the body toward the others while she ventured further to ensure they were alone. His knife once more in his possession, he resumed waiting until she reappeared and announced, "There's no one else." They each knelt to search the expired draugur, extracting whatever blades they found, and then she sat to one side of the entrance, where she could watch the water and listen for anyone approaching down the passageway. She began to shake her damp hair loose and, in response to his furrowed brow, she said, "We have time to spare. When the lucis turns green we'll move."

"I see." He occupied his previous position at the other side of the door. "Is this the usual plan...come down here unarmed and borrow weapons from the dead?"

"More or less."

He chuckled, shifting in his uncomfortably sodden clothing. "Very well then."

"Are you regretting your decision to visit Ercliff?"

"Only a little." He glanced over with a smirk curving his lips.

"We can't have that," she rejoined, plaiting her hair while watching the single strip of lucis veterum on the wall across from them.

Exhaling, he decided to voice what he'd been wondering since they left The Antikvja. "By this time in my life, I'm quite confident in my abilities..." She watched him with eyes narrowed in a curiosity that bordered on confusion. "...but your friend Olivier had a point. There are several in your party stronger than myself, and I'll admit I'm less than qualified to be your only assistance down here. Perhaps Miles should've accompanied you."

Hawkeye shook her head before he'd even finished speaking. "Miles is a skilled warrior, and he's certainly stronger, but you've a superior agility, as well as quicker reflexes...both of which serve you better in these halls. Coming from behind enemy lines, as are we, I prefer a fighter like yourself." Pulling the second half of her hair over her right shoulder, she began another braid. "That, and they underestimate you. I find that useful."

"Fair enough," he replied, finding he appreciated the compliments.

They sat in silence for a short time, and he grew colder with each passing minute, his damp clothing providing neither warmth nor comfort. Aside from a single shiver earlier, Hawkeye seemed immune, patiently twisting her hair and periodically glancing down the corridor. Around them the light dimmed minutely, taking on a soft green hue, and she stood, wiping her borrowed dagger on her sleeve before closing her eyes and piercing her palm. She then held it out before him, the tip coated dark red, and explained, "This will give you an idea of Ercliff's layout."

He rose slowly, regarding the weapon with some ambivalence, and then swiped the blood away with this thumb before bringing it to his lips. The taste was pleasant, with strong hints of iron and zinc, as well as something that reminded him of the spiced chocolate common in the human populations of northern Creta. A tingling warmth radiated gradually through him, and his eyes slid shut of their own accord as her memories of Ercliff flashed through his mind in rapid succession. The recollections began where they presently stood, and he walked down the hallway directly before him, passing the entrances to innumerable rooms and corridors. Some were more brightly lit by the lucis veterum than others, but he knew from her experience where each led. The ninth doorway to his left opened on one of several dungeons, and the twelfth on his right was an old armory that had lain bare for centuries.

The higher he traveled the darker his surroundings became, but with her eyes he could see, and he found himself intimately familiar with the structure's winding halls. He paused at the clank of iron that echoed from some deep location, his muscles tensing fluidly in anticipation, and then he continued unconcerned. In the span of a second Roy traversed the entire stronghold and, in a broken mirror in one of the abandoned living suites, he once more experienced that strange sensation of seeing Hawkeye's reflection where his ought to be.

Opening his eyes, he shook his head as if to clear it, surveying the space with his newly acquired knowledge. "This is...odd."

"I know," she said with a nod. "I apologize for that, but it was the best way to give you a map. If you were to get lost...it can be difficult to find your way out of this place."

"Much appreciated." He moved beside the doorway, waving a hand through it in invitation. "Ladies first."

A quirk of the mouth was her only reply as she stepped into the corridor, and Roy followed with his knife already drawn, carrying it so the blade ran along his forearm. Darkness soon reasserted itself, the only light provided by weakened strips of lucis veterum that ran along the floor and ceiling. They crept quietly along the passage, peering cautiously into any room they passed, and the further they progressed the more noxious the environment grew. Gone were the submerged halls and their lost splendor, quickly replaced by chipped walls, soiled rags, and the overwhelming scent of death.

At one point a loud clangor echoed from somewhere in the labyrinth and they simultaneously froze, listening for further signs of activity. When none came, they shared a look and continued on as before, finding no evidence that the rooms they passed had been recently occupied. By the living, at least. In one suite they encountered the scattered remains of what might have been an entire humanoid skeleton, and in another those of an animal, perhaps a fox that had been fed upon. It was ominous, to say the least.

He instinctively slowed as they approached a darker space up ahead, the lucis inexplicably growing dim as it neared the open area which once served as an exclusive marketplace for the many upper-class inhabitants of Ercliff. The room was octagonal in shape, with a passage branching off nearly every wall and several columns located at even intervals to support the ceiling. And given the number of entrances, not to mention the lack of defensive positions in the room itself, strategically speaking it was a nightmare.

They concealed themselves in a pair of recessed entrances directly across the hall from each other, still at least a hundred feet from the space in question, and Hawkeye pointed toward the end of the corridor before holding up her forefinger. _One hostile near the door_.

He nodded, tapping a finger just beneath the corner of his right eye. _I see him_.

She then tilted her head toward the opening in which she stood and raised her hand, two fingers splayed. _Two minutes_.

At his next nod she turned to make for another of the market room's offshoots, disappearing into the darkness at her back, and not an instant later she was thrown to the ground in the middle of the passageway. In the same moment, Roy was yanked backward against the painfully solid gate behind him, grunting when something sharp and metallic pierced his lower back and poked through his stomach. An arm shot through the iron lattice of the gate, but before it could wrap around his neck with unknown strength, he gripped the forearm and wrenched it forward, ramming the stone knife back into his attacker. He then drew the weapon free as he spun to grip the draugur by the hair, jerking his head between the bars and snapping his neck over a horizontal rung.

He turned round to find Hawkeye prying a wiry shadow-walker's hands from her throat and, when she caught sight of him, she kicked her enemy hard in the gut. Catching his legs when they flew up toward him, Roy shoved his head into the floor, forcing the man's neck into an impossible ninety-degree angle before letting the limp body fall. He helped the blonde to her feet, giving her a momentary look of confusion when she came closer, and then grimaced slightly when she pulled the weapon from the small of his back. "Thanks."

She simply nodded and moved forward to intercept the sentry lumbering in their direction, leaning slightly to evade the machete aimed at her head. In the same moment, she gripped his shoulder and threw him into the wall with such force that his skull cracked stone, raking a knife across his jugular as he fell. Upon tasting a few drops of his blood, her eyes glazed briefly and she said, "There are five more, and one is quite strong. I'll draw their attention to this entrance."

"I'll be quick." Roy picked up their most recent opponent's weapon and vanished through the archway to his left, taking the route she'd intended to follow only minutes prior. He raced through more narrow corridors, and one surprisingly clean bathing area, and when he rounded a corner he could make out three forms in the room ahead. They were slowly pacing toward the hall he'd just abandoned, and he picked up speed, passing silently through the doorway and embedding the machete in one heavily-tattooed draugur's spine. Stepping over that body, he pulled the next man backward by his black braid and drove the stone knife into his temple, yanking it free hardly a moment later to slit his throat.

The third shadow-walker reacted more quickly, and Roy was forced to deflect a short-sword with his forearm, lips pursing as metal met bone. He jabbed his other hand at the man's throat and kicked him into the nearest column, swiftly snapping his neck before he could retaliate. He hurriedly spun to scan the room, catching sight of Hawkeye just in time to watch her reach into a tall draugur's back and tear out his heart. She let the organ fall near its owner's feet and strolled toward him, wiping her bloody hand on a handkerchief, her voice quiet. "Silvan was a cruel man."

He glanced at the dead man, and gave a single nod. "I know." With satisfaction he noted the trio of abnormally wide scars on his neck, wounds Roy himself had given the man with a romero-coated blade.

Her curious gaze jumped to his, but her brow soon furrowed for an entirely different reason, and she looked from one doorway to the next. "Do you smell that?"

"Yes."

The foulest of breezes came from a stairwell leading upward and uneasily they ascended, their shared sense of foreboding increasing with each step. The scent only deepened, more intense even than Ercliff's usual loathsome aroma, and he wondered how it had not reached them before. He caught her eye on the landing, saw the tension in her gaze, and when his next step made a muted splash he knew it was not water. The source of the scent came from an opening twenty feet away, and through it he saw a long room illuminated by a single, weak strip of lucis veterum. It was enough.

Bodies in varying stages of decomposition had been piled haphazardly throughout the space, as if they'd been flung from that very doorway. Blood streaked the walls, viscera littered the floor, and the light was dimly reflected in pools of fluids he preferred not to contemplate. When he realized the majority were children, his chest tightened immeasurably, and in disbelief he whispered, " _Sekhma_."

" _Futo_ _-lamia_ _e_ ," Hawkeye cursed beside him, lips parted in shock. "Hakuro...he was _here_."

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 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have a good one :)


	5. The Ancient One

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FMA.

 **AN:** Hello all :) I hope life is good!

(A quick thank you to Amy for the guest review!)

* * *

 **The Ancient One**

The late morning sunlight was pleasantly warm on her cheek, and it was a sensation in which Riza had luxuriated since the first sunrise she'd ever survived. It was true that night's shadows would never cease to be a comfort, but mornings were especially sweet, considering she'd spent decades assuming daylight would kill her. At that moment, however, a few hours following the horrific discovery of a mass grave, the rays streaming into the clearing around her provided meager consolation. Still, she closed her eyes and drew in a lungful of fresh air, listening to a covered wagon carry evacuees to Halsted and somewhat dreading the return to Ercliff's nauseating halls.

After several minutes she strolled toward the stronghold's main entrance which, like many draugur castle's of similar design, was nestled deep within a cave. At one time, it allowed for business to be negotiated during daylight hours, but it currently served as a less-oppressive waiting area for those few victims they'd been able to rescue. In all they'd only found seven survivors, three young hēlans and four humans, each of which had been so thoroughly bled that they were incapable of sitting straight under their own power. In all likelihood, they would never recover.

Immediately outside the cave's mouth she came upon Hughes, who looked up from the wagon he was preparing with a muted grin. "I sent the humans off first," he informed her, checking one mare's harness and shaking his head. " _Xerxes,_ I wish we could destroy this place."

"You're not alone." She tugged firmly on the nearest trace to ensure it was securely fastened, and then lowered her voice. "I assume you recognized Lord Mustang?"

"Yes, and I'd love to know how he evaded us back then. It's impressive."

"Especially with Miles involved. He can track anything." Riza glanced in the direction of the cave, and changed the subject. "The trapdoor to the southern gate needs closed, and send a messenger to Armstrong about Hakuro. Make it your fastest rider."

"I'll see to it," he replied, waving for a few soldiers to carry the next round of passengers to the wagon. "The bodies...you intend to burn them where they lay?"

"They've been desecrated enough, and speaking of, from this moment no one reenters the keep. I don't want anyone getting caught in the blaze." Pacing into the cave itself, she added, "With any luck, a few fires will weaken Ercliff's structural integrity."

"Here's hoping," he chuckled.

The castle's heavy iron door stood open and she strode past it, descending once more into the maze of corridors, lips forming a line as fetid air washed over her. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, with not even lucis veterum to light her path, and she crossed the spacious room that was once a receiving area for merchant deliveries, which led directly into the vast kitchens. Much like draugur society itself, their fortresses were organized into tiers, with the deepest and most protected levels reserved for the elite, far removed from those considered inferior. With those floors inundated, however, most trespassers camped in the old servants' quarters or dungeons, and it was those sections that sprawled out immediately beneath her feet.

Riza followed another set of stairs downward and, while passing the first of many dungeons, she caught sight of Mustang standing in the doorway of one of the cells. He held a torch in his right hand, his attention entirely fixed on some point within the tiny space, and with a curious brow she started toward him. He must have heard her footfalls, because he soon stepped fully into the hall, and when his eyes found hers she noticed the irises were far darker than when he had been human. "Find anything?"

"No, just looking around." His expression belied the nature of his thoughts and she realized that, just like at the Antikvja, she'd interrupted bitter recollections.

"I don't think the owners will mind," she quietly replied. Her attempt to lighten the mood was mildly successful, garnering a diminutive smile, and she waved a hand the way she'd come. "It's time to leave. I'll be lighting the pyre soon." She turned away, her mind once more mired in dark images of pale children, so deeply that it took the span of several strides for her to realize he'd fallen into step with her. It was the torchlight she noticed first, highlighting the web-like scars on his arms, the flickering flame revealing the many variations in size and color.

"I assume," he began, "that you're performing a final walk-through."

"That's right."

He brought a couple fingers to his temple. "I have this useful map of the place in my head, if you're interested."

The corners of her mouth tugged upward. "I'll take the western half, you take the east, and then get yourself to the cave."

He disappeared down another passage and she was plunged into darkness again, continuing her descent in silence. She made a careful circuit of each floor, ensuring that neither her soldiers nor any victims had been left behind. The rooms would have bled together in a confusing haze had she not already been familiar with them, the only distinctive features being a rusted cadelabrum here or scrap of forgotten armor there. As before, the closer she ventured toward that minor banquet hall full of corpses, the heavier and more repugnant the air became.

The halls were empty and the quiet complete until she reached that particular level, a dull crack traveling from the marketplace where she'd encountered Silvan. She could hear Kristoff pleading, and once nearer she could make out Olivier's voice, a familiar edge to her tone. "... _warn_ us. Hakuro himself on the move, and you say nothing. You protect them even when they've cast you aside."

"I had no idea, milady. I swear it."

"You lie." This declaration was followed by another thud. "It should've been the first thing out of your mouth. The damned sekhma hasn't left Kaldreinn in four centuries, and you know very well Hawkeye would find his presence interesting."

"Lady Armstrong, please," Kristoff begged. "I was not aware his lordship was here."

"If you continue this farce, I'll be forced to..."

"He didn't know, Liv," Riza interjected, entering the room to find her friend pinning the man against a pylon with a hand around his neck. Olivier met her eye and, after a slight hesitation, released him, at which point she added, "It's time you left, Kristoff. And try not to forget our conversation the other night."

"Yes, yes, of course, milady," he replied, racing down a corridor.

Once he was gone, Olivier strode toward her and asked in astonishment, "You drank from _him_?"

"Not directly, but yes." Anticipating the next question, she continued, "I had my reasons."

Her friend's nose wrinkled in aversion. "That couldn't have been pleasant."

"Not especially. He tasted a bit like that deer in the forest, if marginally less rancid."

"That's something, I suppose," the other woman replied, turning toward the staircase when her husband and Hughes emerged from it.

"It's ready," Miles informed them, several soldiers trailing out of the stairwell behind them. "We gave it as much fuel as we could...birch bark, dead logs, flax oil...even had the inn send over some of it's strongest alcohol with the first wagon."

She nodded, taking the torch as she passed and saying over her shoulder, "Liv, lead them out in case this goes poorly. Miles, see if you can pick up Hakuro's trail. Find out where he went."

Riza then slowly climbed the staircase, striding through the same bloody puddles she'd traversed hours before and trying to inhale through her nose as infrequently as possible. She paused in the doorway, the odors of decomposition mingling with the various flammable substances in a way that nearly overwhelmed her senses. Gritting her teeth, she passed through the carnage to the furthest end of the room and turned to pace toward the door, extending the torch to light innumerable blazes. She soon produced the cleanest handkerchief in her possession, holding it over her nose and mouth to mitigate the stench, not to mention smoke inhalation.

Back at the entrance she came to a stop, momentarily ignoring the rapidly intensifying heat to toss the torch into the flames and quietly say, "Liberai en fate." It was a phrase from the language common in her youth, and in Amestrian it translated to something like 'may you be free in death.' Perhaps it was odd but, in that instant, they were the only words that came.

She tarried mere seconds longer and then hurried back toward the cave entrance, reaching it in minutes and securing the iron-wrapped door behind her. Visitors always managed to find their way in, but she would do everything in her power to discourage them. At the mouth of the cave her group waited with a collection of horses that had been brought from the inn, and she eyed each vampire in turn to ensure no one had been missed. At her nod Hughes gave the order to depart and she swung herself into the saddle, spurring her horse to Olivier's side. "I'll be back at the Antikvja shortly."

"With any luck I'll be sleeping," the other woman intoned. "Try not to bother me."

"Whatever would I need you for?" she rejoined with a smirk, setting off westward through the trees.

Riza rode at a comfortable pace for just thirty minutes, until the forest thinned slightly and she reached the largest in that patchwork of vast, grassy meadows that bordered Halsted. Sunlight stung her at times sensitive eyes as the sky grew ever brighter, but still she searched the treeline for the weathered stone column she sought, nestled between two oaks miles away from the nearest beaten path. It was one of the last remaining markers from a lost roadway, the only traces being a few three-foot tall pillars and overgrown wagon ruts.

Upon reaching it, she dismounted to hobble her gelding and crouched to gather a few wild peonies into a colorful bouquet. She arranged them neatly as she reentered the woods and, after perhaps a hundred feet, she came upon a massive yew tree, eyes falling to the flat stone embedded in the ground at its feet. It was large as a door and worn from age, the once clear lettering softened by the elements, and a few thin cracks peppered the surface. She knelt at one end, setting the flowers beside the lone bouquet already there, and placed her hand on the cool stone, fingers tracing over the year etched there.

An unbidden image flashed in her mind of a young blonde drenched in her own blood, delicate lace stained with viscera, a hideous crater in her skull. Closing her eyes against the onslaught, she whispered, "Happy birthday, Win."

With a heavy breath she stood, and contemplated the grave before making her way to the patiently waiting horse. Her trip back to the Anitkvja was a distracted one, the landscape passing almost unseen, and soon she was dismounting once more and passing her reins to the young stablehand. The inn was quiet when she entered, with the villagers out working and many of her party no doubt resting, and she only paused in the sparsely occupied common room long enough to claim a jug of red wine along with a mugful of the recently drained stag hanging outside. She lumbered up the stairs, the fatigue finally settling in, and when she pushed open her door it was with the intention of falling into bed forthwith.

Instead, Riza found a brunette with close-cropped hair standing before the fire, her arms crossed, and the woman did nothing to acknowledge her arrival except to vaguely tilt her head. The door closed with a rattle of the latch and she set the beverages aside, brow creasing when she noticed the top of Lan Fan's head peeking out above the bedclothes. For the moment ignoring that unexpected development, she moved toward the washbasin in the far corner of the room and caught her somewhat horrific reflection in the mirror. The silence continued as she partially disrobed and ran a damp cloth over her face, wiping away whatever trace she could of that horrid room.

Finally, the other woman softly said, eyes never leaving the flames, "This would've been her eighth."

Riza nodded and paced slowly back toward the fire, slicing her palm open over the chalice on the table. While blood mingled with wine, she said, "I encountered Kristoff."

At this declaration, dark carmine eyes found her own. "Please tell me his heart's in your saddlebags."

"No, I brought you something far better," she replied, holding the goblet out toward her guest.

Her eyes narrowed. "What could _possibly_ be..."

"Just drink, Maria."

Her expression turning more curious than irked, she did as requested, and her mouth fell open as the memory played out in her mind. She smiled, eyes taking on a liquid sheen, and asked, "When was this?"

"Two days before your wedding."

"Thank you, Riza." Maria pressed her hand. "Winry saw my gown, but I never got to see hers."

"I thought you might like to." She peeked into the cast-iron pot hanging over the fire. "You're cooking in my quarters?"

"I didn't care for what this so-called _inn_ had to offer."

She smirked, filling a bowl with chunks of roast venison, potato, carrot and turnip. "I threatened to debone Kristoff by hand, if that makes you feel any better."

"It does, actually." The brunette brought her own laden bowl to the small table with a grin. "I bet he pissed himself."

"Nearly." Riza took a bite of roast and practically sighed. " _Futue_ , this is fantastic." With a nod toward the bed, she added, "Care to explain my other visitor?"

This was met with a chuckle. "She knocked a little while ago, asked if she could read here. Said something about the common room being dangerous, and someone named Roy needing to rest. Told me she was wide awake, and fell asleep five minutes later." She shook her head, amused. "She's a _wordy_ little thing."

"Occasionally." She smiled, glancing at the mountain of blankets and lowering her voice. "She's a sweet girl. Yet another that didn't deserve what's befallen her."

"Like so many before her." Maria drank from the goblet once more. "Now what, pray tell, brings the venerable Armstrong coven out amongst the rabble?"

"My unit came to assist a human lord with fortifications, and then Freyne sent word of a potential attack." She pulled an earthenware mug across the table and filled it with wine. "So we decided to stay around a while longer."

"Anyone notable?"

"Tomás, Vidienne, and Silvan are dead." Riza thoughts turned to the grisly discovery at Ercliff and she took another bite, tapping the wooden spoon on the bowl's edge. "I wish you'd accompany me to Ravnik."

Maria looked up from her dinner, her aggravation clear. "This again? Riz...really, I can..."

"Hakuro's left Kaldreinn, and we both know he'd love nothing more than to stumble on your _defenseless_ cottage. It doesn't even have to be the coven. Go to Creta, Aerugo, Xing, wherever you like. Just make it somewhere safer than your shack in the middle of nowhere." With a glance at the fire, she continued, "I'm only trying to protect you."

"I know," came her friend's quiet reply. "I hate to leave her. I know it's idiotic, she's just bones beneath a slab of stone, but each time I leave nature encroaches a little more." She shook her head. "One day I fear she'll become nothing more than an overgrown, forgotten grave."

"Not as long as we're alive, she won't." Riza sliced off a bit of carrot. "What brought _you_ here?"

"I heard you were in the area, thought I'd take a look at your wound while you're here." Maria eyed her blonde hair ruefully. "And it's a good thing I did, because you both look and smell like death."

"Why thank you." She shook her head, glare playful. "By the by, are you ever going to give Olivier that bottle of tequila? Once she knows you're here, she'll hound you for it."

"No, because it's much more fun to annoy her than to concede."

"You've been going on about this for two hundred years. Is it not time to move on?"

The other woman shook her head. "We have a few centuries of bickering left, at least." Maria paused, cutting through a chunk of potato. "I will _consider_ coming to Ravnik. Consider, mind you, in order to more easily vex Olivier."

"Yes, of course." She smirked. "In truth my motivations are entirely selfish. With you there I'd eat much better."

"That's true. Those hēlans can't cook worth a damn."

"I'm wasting away, can't you see?"

Maria gave a derisive huff and pulled a slim knife from her bag. "Let's take care of your arm." She produced a small vial as well, adding, "And I have some sage oil. It should take that wonderful, death-like aroma out of your hair."

Riza's sigh was resigned. "It's rather intense, I know." She moved to the bed and removed her shirt, revealing the fitted, sleeveless bodice she wore beneath. Fiddling with the tiny vial in one hand, she held her right arm out toward the brunette, who unwrapped the six-inch vertical cut on her upper arm.

The other woman ran a careful finger over the injury. "Your healing still appears stalled in one or two places. There must yet be some compromised tissue...fucking romero." She paused, probing the wound's edges. "One more minor excision should be be sufficient. You're fortunate it was shallow to begin with."

"And Raquelle was fortunate I could only decapitate her _once_." As her friend held the thin blade in the flames, she said, "Thank you for this. I've never met anyone better with precision work."

"I missed my calling." Maria crossed back to the bed and once more gripped her arm. "Perhaps I should've been a doctor."

She smirked, setting her jaw as heat from the metal hit her skin. "Or a barber. I imagine you could've made an excellent living."

"Spend my time lancing boils and shaving chins? No, thank you. I believe I'll keep to my _shack_ , far away from society."

The brunette took a breath and angled the blade against her arm, and Riza's lips formed a line as injured skin was sheared away. Another small section was gradually separated from the original wound, and then she was free to roll her shoulder and shake the tension from her arm. While her friend sat back to clean the weapon, she revisited the washbasin to dampen her hair and then stood before the fire, working a sparse amount of sage oil through her tresses. Her mouth quirked as the earthy, herbal scent finally overtook that of decomposition, helping clear her mind and relax her muscles.

With a significantly more peaceful exhalation, she drained the cup of sânge and stretched out onto the bed, closing her eyes. "Do you plan to be here when I wake?"

"I'll surprise you."

She snorted, pulling the edge of a blanket across her torso. "That's a _no_."

* * *

Two nights later, Riza strolled through a forest located many miles from the Antikvja, laughter rising from the fires visible ahead. They'd established camp in a clearing one hundred yards removed from the road, and she'd just filled her canteen at a nearby stream, enjoying the quiet before rejoining her energetic party. The trip back to Ravnik was generally something of a vacation for the men, and she often liked to keep their pace on the slower side of comfortable because, in her mind, they'd earned a little relaxation before returning to the endless bustle of a stronghold. As such, they would break for several hours at a time and, once a few birds or hares had been procured for roasting, the festivities would commence.

She stepped into the glade where the four blazes had been lit, around which her small company had formed various groups. A few played cards, another surrounded what looked like five quail roasting on a spit, and still another was engrossed in a complex game of dice called Bekkr, which involved stones and a map carved into the dirt. Personally, she'd always hated it.

She snaked her way through the assemblage, greeting a few men here and there before tearing a wing from one of the golden-browned birds. In the clearing's center she was stopped by a bleary-eyed and dusty Miles who said, in what was little more than a series of exhausted grunts, "I lost the trail far south...near Calwaite." After that he managed only a tiny nod, and trudged over to collapse beside his wife.

Riza continued her stroll, and a diminutive smile formed when she caught sight of the fourth fire, where Lan Fan was forlornly tossing torn blades of grass into the flames. Beside her were piled the gloves and thickly-woven cloak she'd worn for daytime travel, and atop it rested the mask the girl had despised from the first moment she wore it. At present they had no recourse, but Riza had already resolved to have her favorite seamstress prepare a few alternatives for the young woman once they'd reached the coven. Becoming draugur did not have to be a death sentence.

Kneeling nearby, she dropped her canteen beside her saddlebags and fished out one of the honey cakes Maria had left before vanishing from the inn. She tore it in two, held half toward Lan Fan, and asked, "Want to take a walk?"

" _Yes_." The girl hurriedly jumped to her feet and followed her into the woods, picking at the cake. "Where are we going?"

"This used to be an apple orchard. Much of it was destroyed, but a few trees survived." Riza held up a small bag she'd also taken from her pack, her other hand pushing aside a branch full of dark green, waxy leaves. "And I'm hungry."

"Me, too." She was quiet for a short distance and then wrapped a hand around her own wrist, rubbing it protectively. "The cloak slipped earlier, and the sunlight _stung_. My skin was red for hours. I knew what I was turning into, but..." She shook her head. "...I don't want to be like them."

"Most draugur are quite ordinary. They aren't all like the shadow-walkers you've seen." She slowed to a stop and took the girl's hand to examine her wrist, lightly touching the inflamed skin. "And you are who you are, Lan Fan. The transition won't alter your personality."

She looked down, uncertain. "How can you be sure? Roy says he's different than when he was human."

" _Time_ may change you, but not vampirism itself. I've certainly grown over the last few hundred years. I _hope_."

Lan Fan chuckled, but her gaze was suddenly drawn to something, and she picked up the pendant hanging from the chain round Riza's neck, running a fingertip over the rune etched into the metal. "Is this your centenarian's necklace? Roy told me that all vetalan women receive one on their hundredth birthday." Her brow furrowed in thought. "Men get rings, right?"

"Generally, yes. This actually belonged to my grandmother. It's steel, because she fought in her father's armies, and the symbol is the old Xerxian rune for _fyxen_."

T he brunette looked up, the brown in her eyes already taking on a reddish hue. "As in vixen?"

She smiled in affirmation, tucking the necklace beneath her shirt and once more leading the way toward the apple trees. "My grandfather said she was the most compassionate person he'd ever met, but that she had the wiles of a fox when the situation called for it."

"Where's yours?"

"I was never given one." Her boots crunched over pine needles, the scent of evergreen rising in the air. "I suppose you could say my family and I had a falling out."

To her surprise, Lan Fan smirked. " _Lord Mustang_ uses that same tone when there's a story he doesn't want to tell."

"It's not a nice story," Riza quietly replied, pausing as they reached the small grove of fruit trees.

The girl nodded thoughtfully, picking an apple and turning it round in her hands. "I apologize. I can be a little...inquisitive."

"It's alright." She started to fill the bag, with a smile adding, "Ask me anything you want, Lan Fan. I simply don't promise an answer."

"I can live with that," she chuckled, moving to the other side of the tree and somewhat hesitantly changing the subject. "What if I wanted to join your coven?" Her steps came closer once more. "I don't want Roy to feel like he has to take care of me."

"That could be arranged." Riza cinched the bag closed, starting the slow walk back to the camp. "And for the record I don't believe he feels _obligated_ to help you. He's your friend...and I could, of course, see to it that he has a place at Ravnik as well. If he wishes."

The other woman gave that shy grin of hers, the one she'd often try to hide. "Thank you, Hawkeye."

"You're welcome."

"Since I can ask all the questions I want..." Lan Fan began, a slyness to her tone. "...how did you meet Lord Mustang?"

Her smirk returned as she glanced at the younger woman. "We were married, didn't he tell you?"

Lan Fan's eyes narrowed, trying to decide if she was lying. "You _weren't_."

Riza shrugged. "Ask him."

She grinned curiously, and when they left the trees she led the way to the fire where he now sat, tuning a guitar. "Roy, were you and Hawkeye married?"

Mustang looked up with raised eyebrows and, to his credit, let very little shock appear on his face despite the ludicrous question. Finally, a nearly unnoticeable quirk playing at his lips, he said, "It was the best sixty years of her life."

The blonde laughed, lobbing an apple across the camp to Hughes. "Mine? I beg to differ, _cari_ _ñ_ _o_."

"You would," he replied, shooting her a smile.

The young woman's gaze moved quickly between them, mouth hanging half-open in disbelief. "You're _lying_."

"It was the prettiest wedding I ever attended," Maria unexpectedly chimed in, approaching them from the the direction of the road with saddle bags slung over her shoulder. "The wine was especially nice. A lovely Aerugonian red, if memory serves."

They shared a conspiratorial look, and Hawkeye tossed her an apple as she sat beside the fire. "If only he could dance, we might still be together."

He ran a thumb over the guitar strings. "I'm an _excellent_ dancer."

"Alright," Lan Fan began, cleverly turning her attention to Maria rather than the supposed ex-couple. "Then what's his last name?"

The draugur woman looked around the small group. "Why, Dalaise, of course. His family's quite important in Aerugo."

"Hah... _liars_ ," the girl intoned, plopping victoriously onto the ground and finally biting into her apple. "He's from Creta."

"Some help you are, Maria," Riza teased, pulling out a knife and slicing off a chunk of apple.

"At least I tried," her friend replied.

The blonde smirked. "Yes, we're devoted liars, if nothing else."

"And I'll never trust you again." Lan Fan grabbed the nearest jug of wine. "As punishment, _Roy_...you have to play a song."

"I _have_ to do no such thing." Mustang strummed the guitar a few more times. "But I know a wonderful tune from my wedding."

The young woman glared at him. "I want to hear _Never Again_ , please and thank you."

"Listen to her." He continued to strum, laughing quietly. "Thinks she can order us around."

"You can tell us if your fingers are too arthritic, old man," Lan Fan added, waving at his hands with her half-eaten apple. "We'll understand."

"They do this." Riza leaned back with an amused shake of the head, glancing at Maria and lowering her voice. "I didn't expect you back for another forty years."

" _Surprise_." The brunette plucked a slice of fruit from the edge of the knife and reclined with her head resting on lumpy saddle bags. "I've decided to grace you with my presence."

"My goodness, Lady Ross, however can I thank you?"

The other woman snorted. "Just let me join a few of your hunting trips, and I suppose we'll be even."

She smiled, her attention in that moment stolen by the melody that rose from the other side of the fire. Though she had not recognized the requested title, she found the tune quite similar to one she knew as _Fielldon Veren_. Suddenly she was taken back more than seven-hundred years, to the gala that formally introduced her to the highest echelons of draugur society. The ballroom had glowed with candlelight, she'd been flushed from drink and dance, and that night she felt the heat of a certain young man's hand on her waist for the first time. The innocent recollections brought a smile to her face.

She was pulled from those memories just as quickly when Mustang joined in with Lan Fan's airy vocals. His voice was warm and sonorous, and held just a hint of sadness, as though the tragedies he'd survived could never be fully washed away. The effect was lovely.

Once the song had finished, Maria cheerily announced, "You know, _Hawk_ can sing."

"Not at all. In fact, she can't carry a tune," Riza was quick to say, lowering her voice to add, "This is why I hate when you visit me." The brunette simply flashed her a smug look.

"Hawkeye, _please_?" Lan Fan asked with a grin.

"Do you enjoy bleeding from your ears?"

"Come now, you've the voice of an angel," Maria prodded. "Do us the honor."

"Yes, _please_ do. I would so love to hear it," Kimblee's voice contributed as he passed by the fire, his expression much too satisfied for her liking. "Perhaps we could perform a duet?" This last was said with one of those winks that made her want to rip out his organs, or partially dismember him. Either would suffice.

Resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, because she refused to give him the satisfaction of annoying her, she opened her mouth to reply but was cut-off by the appearance of a human from Freyne. She was nearly as short as Lan Fan, with drab brown hair and a dress that was clearly designed to draw attention to certain feminine features. The newcomer practically prowled toward Kimblee, her voice exaggeratedly sensual when she pouted, "I thought you'd _forgotten_ me."

"Kinna, my love," he fawned as he pulled her into his arms, a smile on his face that could curdle blood, and which was evidently meant to be cheerful. "Where were we?"

"You were telling me about that time you saved an _entire_ village," the woman simpered, fixing Mustang with a strange glare as she led the ever-bragging Kimblee away.

"I see Solf's found a new plaything," Maria supplied after they'd gone.

"She hopes to be turned, like all the others," the blonde replied, shaking her head. "I already warned him she wouldn't survive the transition."

"How can you tell?" Lan Fan asked as she sat cross-legged beside her, the song momentarily forgotten.

Riza tossed an apple core into the fire, contemplating her answer. "It's a scent in her blood. I'm not sure if it's an iron deficiency, or some other imperfection. Miles would know." She lightly tapped the girl on the nose and said, "His _olfaction_ is better attuned than mine."

The young vetalan wrinkled her nose playfully. "What was it you were going to sing?"

Maria laughed, polishing an apple with a cloth from her bags. "I _like_ you, dameisele."

Lan Fan glanced over at Mustang. "What does that mean?"

His amusement was apparent when he replied, "Something like 'young lady.'"

"I vote for a new nickname." She thought for a moment, rearranging the hot coals with a stick. "I'd prefer _dragona_. I saw it in a book once."

"Overruled, ma dameisele." Riza abruptly looked up at a recognizable scent in the air, though this time it was accompanied by that long-familiar miasma of rotting flesh. Rising slowly, she added, "Maria, I'll ask you not to do anything rash."

"What on earth do you think I'd..." her friend began, springing to her feet as she no doubt recognized the same odour. " _Kristoff_...I'll kill him."

"Yes, that's the rash bit I mentioned." With an exhale, the blonde made her way toward the edge of the clearing, and as she did the sickly aroma became almost unbearable. "Though I'm not sure you'll need to."

After mere steps, she saw Havoc and another hēlan carry a motionless Kristoff through the trees, his feet dragging on the dirt. His hair and teeth had fallen out, his gaping eyes were yellowed with jaundice, and patches of skin on his torso had begun to slough. Trails of blackened blood led from every visible orifice, and his features were contorted with the extreme pain he'd endured. The garments that still clung to his frame were tattered and soiled, and portions of his arms and legs were covered in scratches, his bloodied fingernails proving the injuries were self-inflicted.

Maria let out a whispered 'Faex' from her left, and at the fire behind them she distinctly heard Mustang say, "Lan Fan, look at _me_."

"Apologies, Hawk," Havoc began. "He said it was urgent, kept trying to crawl here."

"My lady," Kristoff suddenly rasped, his inhalation more akin to a death rattle than actual breath. " _Iseult_."

Riza's eyes narrowed and from the right, her brunette friend wondered aloud, "That hēlan encampment up north?"

The dying man jerked forward, his yellowed gaze insistent, terrified, and when he opened his mouth to speak he instead coughed blood. She subtly stiffened when, in the midst of that garbled mess of hacking she caught a single word: _Aluke_. It meant 'the ancient one,' in an equally ancient and forgotten language, and not even a poisoned outcast such as Kristoff would dare lie about that. Hiding her reaction, she surveyed the other listeners, relieved that none appeared to have recognized the message. They were already perturbed by Hakuro's movements, and rumors of aluke would only preoccupy them further.

 _Mere rumor_ , she told herself with a slow breath.

It would be preposterous to fret, considering she'd witnessed the old man's death four hundred thirty years prior. He'd suffered numerous injuries from romero-coated blades, wounds that would never heal, and not even the ancient one could survive the necessary excisions. When her attention returned to Kristoff, however, she found his jaundiced eyes still watched her intently, and doubt whispered in her mind.

* * *

 **AN:** Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have a great day!


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